


Yellow Paper Rose

by soundingsea



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Amnesia, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-17
Updated: 2007-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-06 06:48:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soundingsea/pseuds/soundingsea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>...the last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger in the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination</i> -- Allen Ginsberg, Howl</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yellow Paper Rose

**Author's Note:**

> This is a post-"The Gift" AU. Thanks to spiralleds, beta extraordinaire. Thanks also to sleipnirrr for beta-reading for many chapters and rainkatt for helping in a pinch, and to ironchefjoe for putting up with all my Spike/Dawn chatter.

### Part 1

 

Giles glanced at his watch for the 87 bajillionth time. "By now Willow should have called, at the very least," he said, his voice rough around the edges.

Dawn wasn't sure whether he was hoarse because of the nasty-looking yellow booze he'd brought over from his apartment or the way he'd been crying in the upstairs bathroom; probably both. She nestled into the couch cushions next to Tara and watched the flapping of Giles' jacket as he paced into the dining room.

Xander and Anya sat at the table, picking at the remains of dinner. Dawn didn't understand how they could eat. She'd hardly touched food in days, since before Ben grabbed her.

Anya looked up at Giles. "Willow's probably stranded in a ditch," she offered brightly. "I bet the road back from Los Angeles has a lot of ditches."

Tara looked at Anya and then at the door, worry evident in her expression. Dawn buried her face in Tara's shoulder. Tara patted her absently.

"Must you, Anya?" Giles asked. He sounded way less patient than usual.

"Now I can't mention ditches?" Anya's voice rose. "Xander just said I couldn't talk about the digging you two did in that spot Willow picked in the woods..."

"Okay, Anya, time to go home," Xander said, his voice strained. "Nobody needs you to say what everybody's thinking."

Anya wasn't saying what Dawn was thinking. Willow was just in LA getting Angel, not laid out all cold and stiff in a box in the basement. Dawn looked up as Xander and Anya headed for the front door.

"Call us when you hear from Willow?" Xander asked. Giles nodded and closed the door after them. Dawn whirled around on the couch, peering out the window. She watched Xander open the car door for Anya, his movements stiff and mechanical.

Turning back from the window, Dawn stifled her sadness. Xander probably was hurting too much to say goodbye. She could feel the creeping numbness herself, the sense that none of this was real.

Tara spoke softly. "I should make some herbal tea for the guests. Or coffee. Do vampires drink coffee?"

"I'd imagine Angel will attend to his own refreshments," Giles said wryly.

Angel, Cordy, and Wes. Right. Not that Dawn really wanted visitors, but since it was her house now she supposed she would need to greet them, settle them in, and thank them for coming for her sister's funeral.

Funny that Dawn knew what they all looked like, even though she'd never met any of them. Those were some quality fake memories, she thought with a tinge of cynicism. Maybe she should order some more to replace the real memories of the last year. She sighed.

"Try calling Cordy again?" Dawn suggested.

Tara looked past Dawn to Giles, who was still pacing, and said, "I don't know if Cordelia would want to stay with us. I don't want to put her in Bu--Buffy's room." Her voice quavered.

Dawn cleared her throat. "If she doesn't want to get a hotel with Angel, I'll share with her."

Giles pulled a chair in from the dining room and sat, head in hands, glasses dangling from his fingertips. Tara drew her feet up onto the sofa, curling them under her. Nobody said anything.

Dawn straightened her back and clutched a pillow, holding it in front of her and leaning her chin on the braided edge. Fine, if they didn't want her suggestions, she'd just shut up.

A rattle of the door handle announced Willow's return. She looked tired, drawn, and worse than when she'd left. And she was alone.

Giles replaced his glasses and stopped pacing, turning to face her. "Is Angel's car a bit behind you?"

Willow dropped coat, bag, and keys on the hall table and shook her hair out of her eyes. "That hotel of theirs was all empty. It didn't seem like anyone had been there for a while." She sat, cuddling Tara. "How's my lambkins?"

Tara embraced Willow warmly. Dawn swallowed and chewed on her lower lip. It wasn't like they were leaving her out on purpose; Tara had just been worried. And Willow had other things on her mind than saying hi to Dawn.

Giles cleared his throat. "Surely a locator spell--?"

Willow cut him off. "I tried that, Giles. It told me they don't exist. If they're still alive, undead or whatever, they're someplace like Anya's world without shrimp."

"Worse luck, that," Giles said. "We'd best proceed."

Typical. Nobody bothered even talking to Dawn or caring what she thought. Just the kid, yeah, but she was the one who'd lost her sister. She sat on the couch and chewed her bottom lip as Giles called Xander.

Willow and Tara went upstairs for a minute and came back with a packet of smelly herbs. Giles stood resting his forehead on the door to the basement, and Dawn stepped around him to the back door to put on her boots. Fresh dirt and flip-flops didn't mix. Buffy taught her that.

***

It took Dawn hours to fall asleep after the funeral. Her head swirled with restless dreams of clods of dirt falling on wood, portals shimmering in air, and doors clanking shut. Creeping down the stairs, she found Giles dozing on the couch. She reached out and nudged him awake.

"I figured it out, Giles. We just need Faith."

Giles dismissed her suggestion. "Faith was out of control. She's better off where she is now."

Dawn's lower lip trembled. "Without Buffy, what are we going to do? What am I going to do?"

Giles cleaned his glasses and cleared his throat. Finally, he said, "Dawn, we need to think about your future. I'm not presently able to care for you, and though well-meaning, these children are quite incapable. I've called the number Buffy left for your father's office. He's returned from Spain, and I think you should seriously consider living with him."

"You just want to get rid of me," Dawn cried, flinging the front door open and running down the walk. She caught her breath when she reached the street, and looked back.

The front door swung open like a gaping wound in the heart of her home. Giles was nowhere to be seen; he didn't care enough to stop her from running out into the grey light before morning.

Dawn ran towards the cemetery, the tall grass brushing against her pajama pants. Shady Hills was quiet, not a demon or vampire in sight. Too late in the night, or rather, too early in the morning for them to be about?

Shadows crept along, keeping pace with her as she passed broken tombstones and thick undergrowth. But each time she paused and looked right at the shadows, they disappeared, only to start moving again when she did. As the sun rose, the shadows slithered back under the bushes, leaves rustling.

Spike's crypt loomed before her, appearing out of the mist. She knocked, and Spike pulled open the heavy door. She embraced him, flinging her arms around him and finding herself sobbing as she spoke.

"They want me gone. They're ignoring me because they blame me for Buffy's death, and they should. It was all my fault." She squeezed him.

Spike pulled away gently. She could see the dried blood and bruises on his face. He didn't look like he'd cleaned up since the tower. There was fresh blood on his hand, and she steeled herself not to move away as he carefully stroked her hair.

"No, hush, Nibblet, nonsense. Not your fault at all. Was mine, and I'll pay for it."

Slipping free from her clutching arms, he walked slowly to the door of his crypt. Dawn thought he was just pacing, but he opened the door.

"Spike, where are you going?" Dawn asked in alarm. "It's getting pretty light out there." She lunged forward and grabbed his arm, but he shook her off and kept going.

Spike walked out directly into a patch of bright morning sunlight. Dawn ran after him, screaming in wordless horror. But she was helpless to stop him from blistering and scalding and turning to ash.

 

### Part 2

 

Dawn awoke with a start, her heart pounding in her chest. Sweat drenched her sheets. She crept to the bathroom and turned the tap on slowly, just enough to splash a little water on her face.

Right. Nightmare. Not real. But Dawn could still feel Spike's ashes blowing in the air and coating her tongue with grit. She shuddered and rinsed out her mouth.

The door to her mom's room was closed. Huh. Willow and Tara must still be asleep. Padding downstairs on silent bare feet, Dawn found herself in an empty kitchen. Huh. If she wanted to eat, looked like it was going to be cold cereal.

Not like cereal was a bad breakfast. Far from it. But this was the first morning since... since the tower that Tara hadn't been awake before Dawn, making pancakes, eggs, toast, even bacon to tempt Dawn's appetite.

"Maybe she doesn't think I need babying. And I don't," Dawn mused, pouring her cereal and shaking the box to allow the flakes to pass the plastic-wrapped toy.

It hadn't been that long ago that the toy surprise inside had been the highlight of the cereal experience. But that was with Mom and Buffy around; now she was alone. Suddenly Dawn didn't really want cereal.

What she wanted was to see Spike. Her nightmare reminded her she hadn't seen him since that awful morning. Willow had taken her and Tara home, and she was pretty sure Xander had thrown Spike in his crypt, but she had to know that he was okay.

But Spike would be sleeping right now, and she didn't want to hear the "why aren't you in school; routine helps you heal" lecture from Giles. Not that he seemed to be making with the speeches. Even a talk like the one in her dream would be welcome, if it meant he was paying any attention to her at all.

Rather than stay home and be ignored, she went upstairs to get ready for school.

***

The bell jingled, muffled against the board above the Magic Box's door.

Dawn raised her head from her backpack, wiping her eyes surreptitiously. She'd gone through the motions of school, because nobody was talking about what the hell she was supposed to do next. And no teachers had called on her, so she'd spent the day in a haze, coming to the Magic Box as if on autopilot.

Xander set doughnuts and coffee on the polished wooden table, pushing aside a stack of Anya's magazines.

"Go ahead; drink up," he said gruffly. No cracks about his important task of doughnut-fetching, and Dawn added that to the list of Things That Changed.

Dawn skipped the food and brushed in front of Anya for the coffee, opening three sugar packets at once and pouring them into a steaming cup.

Anya looked at her oddly and said, "I would scold you and forbid you from drinking that, but I don't see why."

Tara gave Anya this weird look, but Dawn shrugged it off. Anya letting her drink caffeine was definitely weird, but Dawn wasn't about to complain. She gulped the coffee, making a face. Hot! Also, needed chocolate sauce. She felt a pang; Buffy had loved mochas. Dawn swallowed the lump of unhappiness in her throat and set the cup down. All of a sudden, she didn't feel much like coffee.

Giles climbed down the ladder from the loft, carrying a stack of dusty books. Willow reached for one, and Giles didn't stop her.

"Thaunbam's On Dimensions," Willow read, running a finger over the raised letters on the cover. "I didn't know we had this."

"We have nothing of the -- just make a list of likely dimensions," Giles said, resigned. "Angel and his associates surely still exist on some plane."

Anya said, "I remember hearing about a certain axis that might help. I'll check with my suppliers." She opened a ledger on the counter, flipping through it.

Willow flipped through the heavy tome in front of her, dust rising from the pages as she searched for relevant passages. "Hey, guys -- it says that portals, formed of shimmering discs of light, can lead to..." She trailed off as everyone looked away.

Giles finally spoke up. "She's dead, Willow. Buffy's dead and we've buried her."

Willow's lips thinned, and she slammed the book shut. "I don't know where Angel and his helpless-helpers went, but we've got more important things to worry about now."

"Yeah, patrol. It's not going so well, guys," said Xander. "It's been three nights, and the Hellmouth's chewing us up and spitting us out. I hate to suggest this, but..."

Willow interjected, "I know. It's our only choice. But I can handle it."

Xander looked visibly relieved. "So you'll talk to him. Good."

Willow looked confused. "Wait. I don't think we have the same plan, Xander. My plan? Not so much with the talking. More with the soldering."

Giles picked up a cup of coffee and looked over at Willow disapprovingly. "You cannot be suggesting..."

"I'm not suggesting. I'm stating." Willow looked resolved. "We've seen what it can do, in the field and all. What she can do."

Anya said, "I think using Spike's sexbot as a fighting resource is the right choice. I'm afraid that a demon will eat Xander if we keep patrolling without help."

Tara spoke up. "She may be Buffy-shaped, but she'll never be..."

Willow clasped Tara's hand in her own. "I know, honey. I know."

Xander turned to Giles, eyes flashing. "You're not going to let Willow fix that thing that thinks it's Buffy, are you?"

Giles sighed and sipped at his coffee. He immediately sprayed it back into the cup. "Pfff! Someone's ruined my coffee with sugar."

Dawn listened to them, a numb feeling tricking down the back of her neck like sweat. Was this sudden stabbing desire wrong, this longing to see the bot that looked so much like her sister? It would be like the opposite of a gateway drug. More like a closing-the-gate drug; she knew Buffy was gone, but if she could just pretend for a minute, maybe she could forget.

But... after Mom, school had sent Dawn to the counselor. The brisk, wiry little woman had talked about stages of grief, but the only one Dawn could remember was denial. Jokes about rivers in Egypt aside, denial was apparently sounding pretty good to Willow right now. Dawn didn't want to live in denial.

Dawn stood, glaring at Willow. "No. I don't want you to fix the bot." She stuffed her schoolbooks into her backpack and grabbed her hoodie off the back of her chair.

"If Buffy's gone, really gone..." Willow said.

"We still need a Slayer," Giles said with an air of finality.

 

***

The late afternoon shadows were long, but not too long; Dawn knew she'd make it to Spike's crypt before anything creepy or crawly attacked her.

"You live in a ridiculously small town, and hey! Your undead friend's lair is within easy walking distance," Dawn muttered. "Assuming he's still my friend."

She had to know; did he blame her too? Sure, the others hadn't said anything, but they seemed so distant. Willow and Tara had slept over every night since the tower, but mostly they just whispered to each other, or talked over her head as if she weren't even there.

Dawn wasn't Buffy, kicking her way into all the world's dark places. So when she reached the door to Spike's crypt, she knocked. One knock, two, then a torrent of them, but Spike didn't answer.

It was actually starting to get a bit dark. Dawn tried the door and jimmied it open with practiced ease; it had been a while, but she still had the mad skills Spike had encouraged. Sweet.

"Spike?" His place looked majorly trashed. Dawn wondered what sort of demons would smash his TV and throw broken glass everywhere. The floor was a serious navigation hazard.

She didn't see Spike anywhere upstairs. But she was pretty sure there was a... ah ha! Basement action. Climbing down the creaky, creepy ladder was a bit hard, since Dawn's sides still ached a bit from the shallow cuts. But she got to the bottom (and hello to the dark) and said gingerly, "Spike?"

She didn't want to move too far out of the muddied square of light from above. She reached out with a foot, and with a bit of hunting encountered a heavy, flesh-like lump.

"Aiee!" She screamed as the lump scissored itself into a new shape and clutched at her ankle.

"Who's sniffing about my hovel, then? Who's come to visit such a wretch?"

"Spike, you're talking nonsense. And you smell funny. Come upstairs."

"Don't need upstairs. And upstairs doesn't need me. Failure, I am. Couldn't stop it. Couldn't save...". His voice broke into a sob, a strange sound coming from such a self-assured man. Vampire. Guy. Whatever.

"I need you, Spike. Please."

"Made a promise, I did. A promise to my girl, not my girl, never be my girl, but I promised her just the same."

Maybe Spike was drunk. He smelled like hobo, and he was talking crazy like the brain-suck victims.

He moved, and she realized her eyes had adjusted enough so she could see him. She reached out and patted what looked like a shoulder. "Spike, please don't blame yourself. It's not your fault; it's mine. I should have jumped. She didn't need to do it. I could have."

His head lifted momentarily, a spark of comprehension in his eyes, and then it was gone. He raised a bottle she hadn't seen earlier, scraping it along the rock floor and lifting it to his lips.

"Nothing, nothing, I'm nothing. Beneath her, and always to be."

"Spike, please..."

"And who are you, then, love? Shouldn't be prowling about a boneyard. Might run into a monster." He vamped, leering at her, and lunged.

Dawn shrieked and grabbed the ladder, shaking his grip off her ankle and climbing out. She ran through the cemetery, wiping away tears as her heart stopped pounding all crazy-fast and hit a more normal exertion level.

Sure, Spike was in love with or stalking Buffy or something, but he was Dawn's friend. He cared about her beyond trying to please her sister; at least, she used to think so. Stumbling over dangling shoelaces as she emerged from the cemetery gates, she stopped to tie her shoes. Ick. Of course the laces were wet.

Dawn didn't know what to think anymore. This thing with Spike was almost as bad as her nightmare. With Buffy gone, Spike acted like Dawn didn't matter at all, like he didn't even know her.

With knotted wet shoelaces and a rumbling in her tummy from her brilliant plan of skipping the research snacks at the Magic Box, Dawn headed back to Revello Drive.

 

### Part 3

 

Dawn was sick of crying. In fact, she was getting mad. She wanted her old life back. Maybe it had all been a lie, but it was her lie, the one she lived, with the people she loved. Why did everyone around her get hurt or die?

Spike once told her that he wasn't good but that it didn't matter; he was still okay. Dawn, though, was no good for anyone around her, and she wasn't in the slightest okay. Dammit.

Rounding the corner of her house, Dawn paused on the back steps and heard voices carrying out the open window.

Anya sounded shrill, like she'd been arguing for a while. "We need the help patrolling, and we don't need the demon population realizing that Buffy is dead."

"An..." said Xander, who seemed worn down.

"It's true," Willow said. "Buffy's dead, and we can't do this without her."

Anya continued without changing her tone of voice. "So Willow's right, much as I dislike admitting it, and this was the right choice. Oh, don't look so satisfied, Willow!"

Dawn heard Buffy's laugh. "I don't know why you're upset, Anya. Your money is perfectly safe."

Her heart breaking just a bit, Dawn walked inside. Willow, Xander, and Anya looked at her blankly, acknowledging her presence but saying nothing.

With a toss of shiny blonde hair, not-Buffy turned and ran to her. "Dawn! You're my sister, and I love you!"

Dawn hugged the surprisingly realistic robot for a moment before rushing to her room and hiding her face under her pillow.

Why was everyone (okay, everyone not mechanical) ignoring her? Did they blame her for Buffy jumping? Blame her for their pain? She was in pain too, you know. They were the ones not letting her heal, the ones using that not-Buffy thing. She should be the one giving them the silent treatment.

***

The next morning, dressed for school, Dawn came down for breakfast. No Tara, again, but when she wandered into the dining room, she found the Bot powered down with wires sticking out.

It looked so much like Buffy, it made her want to cry. And it also felt wrong, somehow. Like, how could she want to see this fake Buffy? She didn't! She wanted to remember the real one.

Her favorite picture of the three of them in happier times hung on the living room wall. Dawn deliberately looked away from the robot, walking over to the photograph and lifting it off its hook.

Light shone in from the windows in the door, reflecting off the glass. Dawn tilted the frame to make the image visible, and dropped the photo with a cry when it revealed its awful truth.

Clutching her backpack, she ran out the door, leaving it swinging open behind her. The breeze caught at the photo, teasing it around the shattered glass. In the photo, only Joyce and Buffy smiled in the sunlight.

***

Dawn didn't have the money for a bus ticket, so she headed for the main road out of Sunnydale. The whole way, she was quiet on the outside but screaming on the inside. It all made sense. The monks made her out of Buffy and inserted all these fake memories about her into everyone's heads. But with Buffy gone, the spell was starting to fade, and just like in the picture, Dawn was disappearing.

Thinking back, the only times she could remember anyone talking to her since Buffy's death were times when she was right there touching them or completely occupying their attention. And even then, they didn't seem to know who she was. It was like their brains just blipped right over her.

Kicking a rock (and swearing when it hurt her toes), Dawn decided she was getting really sick of finding out she didn't exist.

She wondered morbidly if pretty soon she would forget who she was. She could be wandering around with amnesia like some bad soap that she used to watch with Mom. Hey, look -- that lump in her throat meant that her memory of her mom's death wasn't fading one bit.

Something else. Think about something else. Dawn tried to remember every cheesy movie she'd ever seen with hitchhiking. She wasn't wearing a skirt, and didn't think that baring skin was the right approach anyhow. She didn't want some sex-crazed maniac picking her up.

After a few minutes of standing by the side of the road, Dawn took a deep breath and started walking, pack slung awkwardly over her shoulder. There wasn't much traffic in the early morning, but she wasn't waiting any longer.

After she'd been trudging for long enough for her mouth to fill with road dust, a truck pulled off onto the shoulder in front of her. She ran up to the passenger side and climbed up into the cab. It wasn't as high as it seemed at first, and Dawn had gotten a lot taller lately. Funny how her sense of balance hadn't quite caught up.

The truck driver was middle-aged, thick about the torso, stubbly and coarse. He had a rosary hanging from the rear-view mirror and a picture of some old guy mounted on the dash. Dawn scooted into the huge passenger-side bucket seat, wincing as the guy brushed the remains of what appeared to be several fast-food meals from the center console onto the floor at her feet.

"Hey, there, little lady. What brings a sweet thing like yourself to the open road?"

"I just need to get to LA, okay? Are you going there?"

"Near enough to make no never mind. Fries?"

Huh? Oh; he was holding out a crumpled bag of french fries. They were all congealed and cold, sticking together in a clump. Probably from last night. Ick.

"No thanks. I, uhm, ate."

Dawn hugged her bag and tried to make herself small as the truck took off, blaring some sort of talk radio.

The foothills rushed by the windows, short and stunted trees appearing ahead and then becoming only visible in the giant side mirror. She blinked, and they were gone. Just like real life.

 

***

 

After a couple of hours of radio preachers, Dawn was ready to cry or start breaking things. She didn't think she was saved, and she was pretty sure Spike wasn't. Buffy hadn't been a fan of religion, but she'd definitely been all about doing what was right. Didn't that count for anything?

Dawn didn't want to hear any more about Hell or hells, that was for damned sure.

Finally, the trucker dropped her at a gas station in the outskirts of LA. She dug out the fare for the city bus and got on a line heading downtown.

She didn't want to see her father, not really, but she needed to know. She headed to his office.

The receptionist looked like some kind of model. She asked, "Can I help you?" in a tone that sounded more like, "Get out, kid."

Dawn said, "I need to see Hank Summers." She kept her voice from shaking. Go team Dawn!

"He has meetings all day; do you have an appointment?"

Dawn could hear her dad's voice through the far door. Screw this. Ignoring the receptionist's sputtering objections, she crossed the room and threw open the inner door. Her dad was pacing with his back to the door, apparently talking to himself.

"Tell her I won't be settling any amount on her. We didn't have a pre-pre-nup. We had no agreements at all. If she wants to live the high life in Spain, fine, but she isn't doing it on my dime. Tell her to call Alfonse."

He paused in his pacing, noticing Dawn, and reached out and pressed a button on a large gadget which Dawn figured was some sort of conference phone.

Her dad looked at her without any light of recognition in his eyes. "Are you here from the temp agency?"

The phone squawked in the background.

Dawn swallowed and looked at him, willing him to know her. "I just came to see if..."

Hank interrupted her. "Because you can tell them I got tired of waiting for a suitable placement and hired a replacement secretary away from one of my competitors."

Unmuting the speakerphone, he said in a louder voice, "Yes, I'm aware you're my lawyer. I disclosed everything I thought was relevant."

Looking up at Dawn, he said, "Are you still here? Cindy! Send this girl back to that useless agency."

Dawn glared at him with wide, glassy eyes. "I can find my own way out."

Once down on the street, Dawn started walking resolutely, no particular destination in mind. She stepped too close to a bundle of rags, which resolved itself into human form a minuscule second too late. The person stretched out on the sidewalk twitched and lay still. Dawn shuddered; that would not be her.

But there was no point in returning to Sunnydale; with none of her sister's friends knowing her, she would be as alone there as anywhere else. She found herself slowing her pace. Not like anyone was waiting for her.

As she wandered past old guys on cellphones and women wearing suits with sneakers, her tummy rumbled in an insistent and unappealing way. All these important issues didn't change the fact that she needed to eat. She wished bitterly that she had access to their bank account, but of course Buffy hadn't trusted her to act like an adult.

Ouch. Guilt punched Dawn in the gut. How could she be mad at her dead sister? Didn't being dead let Buffy automatically win all arguments or something?

 

### Part 4

 

Dawn walked for what seemed like forever, looking for a place that she could afford to eat. Right off the bat, she ruled out anything with valet parking. The business district seemed to be pretty much a bust, but eventually she ended up near a busy highway. When she saw a blinking neon sign touting "Key's Cafe", it seemed like an omen.

The air inside was thick with smoke. "Huh," Dawn thought. "Didn't they ban smoking?" As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she saw a carved wooden sign saying, "Please seat yourselves." A hand-lettered "Help Wanted" sign was taped to it, peeling and curling at the edges.

She slid into a booth, its high sides making her feel a bit safer. She sat facing the door, though that was a silly habit. After all, if her erstwhile nearest and dearest didn't know her, she doubted that anyone else would be after "the Key".

Was she even a Key anymore? A key needed a lock, and--

"Coffee?"

She looked up from her reverie. A frumpy middle-aged woman wearing a fuzzy sweater with teddy bears was leaning over her, holding a pot of steaming coffee.

"N--yes. Yes. Coffee would be great."

She'd show them! She wasn't a child; she could take care of herself!

The full weight of her situation came crashing down on her about ten seconds later. She wasn't an adult, not really. She didn't have ID at all; what use would a state ID have been to her? And she wasn't old enough for a driver's license yet.

Not that it matter; somehow she doubted she had any legal status anymore.

When her coffee landed in front of her with a splash into the saucer, Dawn looked up at the grumpy woman who stood poised waiting for her order. The waitress was holding a much-folded-over notepad in one hand and tapping a pen against it in the other.

"What'll it be? Don't got all day."

Dawn quickly skimmed the menu. "Uh, cup of chili, side of garlic toast, and a garden salad with french."

"Salad's not included with chili; just with the soup of the day."

"Oh," Dawn said in a small voice, suddenly realizing that she should look at the prices. She scanned the menu again while the waitress tapped the pen in a hurried staccato, and then decided.

"Make it just a bowl of chili, and a glass of water."

When the chili arrived, it was hearty and thick. Dawn ate it slowly, trying to fill that emptiness and wondering how much she really needed to eat. Buffy used to eat nothing but bagels and fat-free yogurt, and she seemed fine.

"So unfair," she grumbled to herself, before being plagued by guilt once again as she remembered.

***

The waitress refilled her coffee for the third time. Dawn scraped the bowl and spoon clean, since they were still there when she came back from the bathroom. A bill had been folded next to them, and Dawn carefully laid the necessary dollar amount with the bill at the end of the table.

Dawn pushed the dishes over to the edge as well, and opened the newspaper she'd picked up on her way back to her booth. She let her eyes unfocus as she tilted her head towards the paper and sipped her coffee. Bleh! Needed sugar!

When she dropped the paper, the waitress had efficiently cleared away everything but her coffee. Figured.

Bitterness mellowed, the coffee was still not all that good. Dawn was oddly disappointed; forbidden things weren't all they were cracked up to be, it seemed. Like this runaway, on-her-own thing? Kinda sucked, in that she had no place to go.  
Dawn looked towards the windows at the front and shuddered. It was dark out there; had been for hours. She'd counted her handful of bills in the bathroom stall, not wanting the waitress to realize how broke she was. She had enough to eat tomorrow and maybe the next day, if she didn't do anything else. She wasn't, however, going to be able to get a hotel room, even if they overlooked the whole "no ID" thing.

Shit.

Maybe running had been the wrong idea. But no... with no knowledge of her, the Scoobies were no help to her. And she didn't need to stay around for the blame and rejection if they ever did remember her.

 

***

 

Good as it had been, the chili was hours ago. Dawn suspected the only thing keeping her awake at this point was the coffee. She shivered, wrapping her hands around the cup, and thought about trying to sleep on the sidewalk like the man she'd seen earlier.

She had a hoodie in her bag, but no coat. Maybe the police would find a Dawn-sicle in the morning. A nobody-sicle.

The waitress came out through the hinged wooden double doors. She was carrying a tray laden with delicious-smelling food, which she took to another high-sided booth. Dawn shrank a little into her seat and lifted the newspaper, hoping that the waitress had forgotten about her and wouldn't try to send her on her way.

She saw a headline buried on page 13 of the metro section. "Claims of Dragon Above City Disproven". She wondered how, exactly, one proved the absence of something, especially something she'd seen. Skimming down the column, she saw that those in intensive care were seeing a counselor, who was helping explain that a gas explosion, not a fire-breathing dragon, had burned them. One elderly man had died.

Dawn swallowed hard. See? She was evil, and would do well to stay away from anyone and everyone.

The waitress came back. "That all you're gonna order? Kitchen's closing."

Independence. Self-sufficiency. If Buffy could do it, Dawn could. As the waitress turned away, Dawn asked, "Uh, I saw the sign up front. What kind of help is wanted?"

***

Stay the course, help the damned Scoobies, patrol. All in her memory. Never go near that wooded corner of the park, where the trees gently whispered "stay away" and "heavens, you've dropped your glove back on the path a bit".

Spike could kill the ache a bit with the help of his good friend Jack. He could try to forget. But not now.

"Spike! Let's patrol together! We'll slay the bad vampires, and then go play Slayer-and-her-vampire back at your crypt!"

He was going to kill that witch, wring her bloody neck. But not before she fixed the sodding Bot so it didn't know him.

Spike turned and headed in the opposite direction, leaving a bewildered Buffybot calling after him, "Oh, you want to split up? Cover more ground? Ok, then..."

Loping easily into the distance, he soon was out of range of her voice. When he was sure she couldn't see him, he slouched behind a tombstone and sighed. He couldn't go on like this, not hardly. Without Buffy and... there was a strange gap, a memory he couldn't quite catch. When he'd try to focus on it, it would flit away.

He was meant to do something in her memory, he knew. Bloody well certain it wasn't the robot.

 

### Part 5

 

Waiting on customers wasn't the hard part. They all wanted pretty much the same thing -- greasy food and lots of it. A week waiting tables at the diner, and Dawn never saw anyone order salad.

The scary old trucker guys were way too free with their hands, but she kept moving and stayed out of reach. And if they talked to her chest while ordering? Well, that was pretty typical.

Being open late meant that a wide variety of people from society's colorful underbelly all gravitated towards Key's. Thankfully, so did the cops. The first time the lobby filled with uniforms she was nervous; after all, she was technically working without ID and underage.

But Dolores just grunted and showed her how to "store discount" their food, and Dawn realized that the cops kept the more unsavory element away. Bonus.

The only really creepy thing was Carl, the cook. He looked at her in this gross way, like he was thinking NC-17 thoughts. And once he totally followed her into the walk-in freezer, and Dawn didn't know what would have happened if Dolores hadn't yelled out an order. At least he usually left before Dolores did.

***

Right before closing on Tuesday night, Dawn was wiping down the center tables and filling salt-shakers. Dolores was out back smoking, so she wasn't there to yell at Dawn for doing it wrong.

A girl peeked out from one of the high booths. She had dark, wavy hair and was wearing way too much eye makeup. She smiled broadly, revealing slightly crooked teeth, and when she spoke it was with a Spanish accent.

"Hey, chica. Our waitress hasn't come back for ages. Can we get more fries?"

Dawn swallowed, running her tongue behind her teeth. Carl was in a mood, and the kitchen was theoretically closed. But a friendly customer and the prospect of a decent tip made her bold. "Sure!"

Peeking through the wooden slats, Dawn figured that Carl must have joined Dolores for his fifty bajillionth smoke of the day. Not that they really had to go outside, but sometimes the kitchen was too hot and gross to bear.

Dawn eased through the swinging door so it didn't creak. She rescued some mostly-unburnt fries from the wire basket next to the frier. Throwing them on a plate, she nuked them until they steamed.

Dawn brought the fries back to the booth, grabbing a bottle of ketchup on the way.

The friendly girl smiled. "Gracias. I'm starved. Hey, looks pretty quiet here; sit down a minute."

The other girl rolled her eyes. "Picking up strays?"

"Come on, she looks lonely," said Nice Girl, elbowing the one Dawn mentally labeled Mean Girl.

Dawn hoped she didn't say that aloud. "No, it's okay. I need to finish my side work."

Nice Girl rolled her eyes. "So bring your napkins and silverware over here. I'll help."

Dawn closed the last salt-shaker and gathered up her supplies. With one last look at the silent kitchen, she sat down and started rolling silverware.

True to her word, Nice Girl alternated between wolfing down fries dunked in ketchup and rolling silverware faster than Dawn. Hands in motion, she said, "I'm Sofia. What's your name, mija?" Off Mean Girl's glare, she added, "Erin's a misántropa, so don't mind her."

"I'm Dawn," she answered, flicking her eyes at the supposed people-hating girl. Dawn was willing to give her a run for her money.

Erin, who had short, choppy blonde hair and wore no makeup at all, shook her head. "I don't hate people. I just didn't realize you were going to ask me to be up close and personal with non-you people tonight." She threw her arm around Sofia's shoulder and nuzzled her.

Sofia laughed. "Bonita, I've been serving drinks to guys more repugnant than you ever see. Speaking of which, let's see how I did." She pulled out a fist-full of bills much thicker than Dawn's carefully counted and folded hoard.

Damn. Dawn was clearly working in the wrong crappy restaurant.

Erin drawled in a fake Southern-belle voice, "See, my lovely girl hee-yah has all the men-folk panting over her."

Sofia laughed. "Well, the straight ones, anyhow. And can't complain; after all, those stupid gringos help me take care of you."

Turning to Dawn, Sofia explained, "I waitress at a club nearby. Decent hours, more than decent pay... And? Decent management."

Sofia studied Dawn for a minute and then said, "Unless I'm way off, chiquita, you're pretty short on options right now, if you're working at this dive, no? You ever think about dancing?"

Uncertain how to answer, Dawn babbled, "Sure! I mean, I was in ballet as a kid. My sister was all about the ice skating, but I adored ballet, and..."

Dawn remembered again, with a sickening thud of her heart, that she'd never actually worn ballet slippers, despite the pictures her Mom had taken of her recitals, pictures that were probably gone now, along with Mom and Buffy and... "I don't really think... I mean, dancing isn't really my thing."

Erin snorted. "Obviously not. No client wants to see a girl take it off if she looks like she's going to cry."

Dawn flushed. Oh. THAT kind of dancing.

Sofia stuck her tongue out at Erin before smiling at Dawn. "Hey, chiquita, don't listen to my girlfriend here. She's such a pessimist about the biz, which is funny since even waitressing at a club pays muy better than being a wannabe rockstar." She smiled when saying this, and kissed Erin's ear, taking it in her teeth and adding a "grr".

"Listen, no pressure, ok?" Sofia looked at Dawn with kind eyes. "Just, how long have you been in LA? Where are you staying?"

Dawn twisted a napkin so hard that the fork tore it. "Uhm... I stay, you know, around." She looked at them, sighed, and admitted, "Okay, Dolores lets me sleep in back. Comes out of my pay."

Just then, the crash of a fryer rack being slammed into the sink caused Dawn to drop the silverware and snap her head towards the sound. Guess Carl was done smoking. He was yelling something to Dolores, the decipherable words being "...little BITCH... my KITCHEN..." Dawn flinched.

Sofia and Erin shared a look, and then Erin spoke up. "Fine, fine, come home with us, ok? Not in a pick-up way. But Sofia will be insufferable if I don't let her bring you home, so come on."

Dawn didn't really feel comfortable with the arrangement, if Erin didn't really want her to come along. But this was way better than the last week of misery had been, so she nodded and said, "Thank you."

She left her apron on the back of a chair. Dolores could figure it out.

***

Sofia and Erin lived in a dilapidated old apartment building. After a brief battle with the outside door, with Sofia's key prevailing, they walked up seemingly endless stairs and across to the back of the building. Dawn wrinkled her nose at the funny-smelling carpet and the yellowish stains she saw on the peeling wallpaper in the hallway.

Luckily, the apartment itself was uncreepy, clean, and simply furnished. Sofia and Erin lived on the top floor and had an airy balcony off the living room, with a cunning, old-fashioned wrought iron railing, all done up in scrollwork. It was pretty, but it reminded Dawn too much of all the cemeteries in Sunnydale. She swallowed hard. Time to leave those memories behind.

Erin poured much-welcomed glasses of water for them all, a gesture that seemed like one of peace to Dawn. Maybe Erin would be okay with her staying longer than a night.

Sofia pointed Dawn to the futon, which pulled out into a surprisingly soft bed. Before she could finish saying something about leaving and the morning, Dawn was asleep.

***

She woke in the night to the sound of sirens. They were coming, an ambulance was coming, to bring Buffy to the hospital. Everything was going to be fine.

So why was she crying?

Dawn realized soon enough where she was. There were sirens because she was in LA. And Buffy was beyond saving, dead and buried like Mom. There was only Dawn, and she wasn't even the Dawn she had been, somehow.

She sniffed, trying to stifle her sobs, and just succeeded in making more noise. Sofia emerged from the bedroom, looking concerned.

"Pobrecita, it's going to be okay," she assured her, passing over some tissues and sitting at the edge of the futon. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Sofia wrapped her arms around herself, evidently chilly in the flimsy vintage slip she had worn to bed; Dawn could see goosebumps on Sofia's arms.

Dawn shook her head and wiped her eyes and nose. "I'm... it's... not really. You've been really nice to me, and I appreciate it, but I can't... I should go."

"Go? It's four in the morning, chiquita, and the four in the morning people? Locos. I was trying to tell you, before you fell asleep, that you're welcome to stick around in the morning, well, afternoon, if you like, but don't expect us up until 2 pm at the earliest."

"Wow, Mom never used to let me..." Dawn stopped, stricken, but Sofia nodded.

"Lose your mama? Me, too. I understand."

She seemed so much like a big sister right then that Dawn hugged her and started crying. Sofia soothed her, stroking her hair. Dawn's sobs died out quickly, her face pressed against Sofia's shoulder.

"Aww, a tender moment. But Sofia, darling dear, you need your beauty sleep."

Dawn lifted her head to see Erin lounging in the bedroom doorway, looking as casual in a tank and shorts as Sofia looked elegant. Her sardonic tone was softened by a smile, but the levity didn't reach her eyes, which were tight and hard.

Sofia squeezed Dawn's shoulder, saying, "Sleep, Dawnita. You'll feel better, I promise." She rose and followed Erin back into the bedroom.

Dawn heard voices rise and fall in a soft murmur from the other room, and then there was silence. She settled herself back on the futon and drifted off into sleep again, with no more nightmares.

***

Dawn woke the next morning to a deep, droning tune. She sat up, pulling the blanket around her bare legs, and saw Erin standing, looking out the window and playing a bass guitar.

The doors to the bedroom and bathroom were open; Sofia didn't appear to be in the apartment. Dawn was worried for a minute. Great. She'd been left with the one who didn't like her and didn't want her here. She worried a lot less, though, when Erin turned to her with a grin.

"I've got this part just right! Listen."

She tossed off some guitary riff; sounded exactly like what she'd just been playing, but then again, Dawn didn't really know anything about music.

Erin finished whatever she was playing and set the guitar aside. "Look, kid. Sofia's got a big heart, and she's all about helping people. I get that. I really do."

Dawn sat up, saying, "But you want me to leave. I get--".

Erin cut her off with a wave of her hand. "But just so you know, we're trying to get together enough money so my band can get some studio time and hire an engineer to mix our album. That shit ain't cheap. We take in a roomie, she needs to pay her own way, mmkay?"

Dawn nodded. "I've thought about it, and I'd like to try to get a job waitressing at Sofia's work. I need something I can do, uh, without ID, and most places..."

Erin smiled, flashing teeth and looking predatory. "Sounds like a plan. She's out doing a modeling shoot right now..." she paused and looked Dawn up and down in a totally Creepy Carl way before continuing, "which might be something you'd want to look into as well. She'll be back later and I'm sure she'd take you shopping for some gear. No offense, but that look's not gonna get you tips."

Suddenly Dawn felt self-conscious in her Hello Kitty tee-shirt. No wonder they kept calling her "chiquita". She wasn't at all sexy. It wasn't Buffy or Anya who kept the non-creepy guys from noticing her; she was just a kid after all.

In a detached manner, she noted that she'd thought of Buffy without completely losing it. Gonna have to be this way, moving forward. Dawn tossed her head like Erin, trying on the other girl's easy confidence.

"Yeah, shopping sounds great."

 

### Part 6

 

Spike sat at the bottom of the stairs leading up from the basement of the magic shop. Elbows resting on his knees, he sucked down his third cigarette since leaving his crypt. Enough musty stink of herbs down here to mask a little smoke, and what Anya didn't know wouldn't hurt her. As for old Rups, he hadn't shown his face in the fortnight since the funeral.

Voices trickled down, muffled enough to be only somewhat intelligible.

"Modern Bride has a whole article about... construct... collapsing," Anya's shrill tone was about typical. "Xander, aren't you worried?"

Spike shook his head to clear it. Collapsing. The tower hadn't. Their lives, though... He dropped the butt and crushed it under his boot before heading upstairs.

Predictably, Xander sounded baffled. "Huh? What? You don't think my work site is taking precautions?"

Speaking of careless, neither of the lovebirds sitting at the polished wooden table looked up as Spike leaned against the inner doorway. Anything could have come out of that unsecured sewer entrance, and yet.

Anya tossed her hair, saying, "Take it up with OSHA. They're all robots, you know." She pointedly turned her attention to the glossy pages in front of her.

Spike's heart sank as he heard an all-too-familiar voice ask, "Who's all robots?"

As one, Xander and Anya said, "Nobody's talking to you, Buffy..." and Xander finished, "Bot."

And sure enough, the damnable robot was standing right out of sight. Must sniff out the wretched plastic, Spike reminded himself once again.

"Right, then." Spike shoved off from the wall and strode into the room, leaning on the magazine-covered table. "Let's go rid the night of evil."

"Present company excluded?" asked Xander, loading up on all sorts of nasty wooden bits.

Spike turned on his heel and headed out the front door, lighting another cigarette. Boy thought he was funny, but Spike wouldn't much mind being quit of home sweet hellmouth, present company very much included.

Willow and Tara were rounding the corner and heading his way. Before they could get close enough to distract him with their chatter, Spike tried to concentrate on something Anya had said, something about a construct. It skittered at the edge of his consciousness but fled when he focused.

***

Patrol went just swimmingly. The witches escaped mostly unscathed, and no demon chomped the bot to bits (there was always tomorrow for that), but as usual the boy took too many risks.

Afterwards, Anya dabbed at Xander's shoulder, grimacing as torn fibers caught on the lacerations. "No more demon-hunting for you."

Spike looked on with interest. Smelled much better than the pig's blood he was stuck drinking (thanks to Army Boy and his merry pranksters -- didn't miss that lot).

"It's a --argh-- dirty job, but somebody's got to do it." Xander winced.

"And does that have to be you?" Anya asked. She took Xander's other arm and turned back to Spike. "I know what you're thinking. Shoo, bloodsucker! Xander is not a midnight snack."

Spike shook his head. Some gratitude, that. But they'd be wanting his help the next night, sure as sure could be.

The BuffyBot appeared from behind a small stand of trees, smiling like always. "Demon-hunting is bad for those weak humans," it said, reaching for Spike's hand. "But we've got the stamina to go all night!"

Pulling away from it, Spike scowled at nobody in particular and stomped off. Why was he still here again? No place else would have a lovesick robot nipping at his heels.

***

Three nights on, Spike had had absolutely bleeding enough of the bloody Scoobies. They'd all fallen down the rabbit hole, good and proper. Only thing missing was a Cheshire Cat, 'cept that was in his dreams, her disembodied grin fading in and out, mocking him.

'Course the Red Queen ordered him about, but wouldn't pay the slightest heed to his demands on the topic of the sodding bot.

TweedleDee and TweedleDum spent patrol bickering about wedding nonsense, to the point where he had to tell them to bloody well shut up or he'd shut them up.

The Mad Hatter decided that he could drink tea and putter uselessly with papers just as well back in the mother country as he could on this god-forsaken hellmouth.

After all, it wasn't like the robot needed a Watcher.

Might be half-mad, that one, but at least he got out. As for himself, Spike thought despairingly, as far as he might roam, he'd never be able to shake this place. Sunny D was the ruin of him.

The White Queen seemed quiet much of the time. While her red-headed counterpart screamed in the inner sanctums of a bloke's mind about demons that needed beheading, Tara was serene and sad.

He'd happened upon her in long conversation with the bot. They'd been discussing nonsense like where'd the morning gone, and when would it be coming back.

He could have answered that one; day would break soon enough, and he wanted to finish this patrol sometime before that bright summer sun came out and ate him right up.

***

Couple of nights later, Spike went to Revello Drive early, before patrol. Best not to think about the last time he was there; he didn't need any guff from the witch who spent her nights crawling around in his mind, or trying to.

Found her in the dining room, up to her elbows in robot guts. And wasn't that an appealing sight. He felt a mite queasy.

Spike cleared his throat. "Not that I need to tell anyone this, and I don't, but I'm clearing out."

Willow didn't look up from her adjustments to the bot. "Mmhmm. And how did you get around my disinvite spell?"

The bot, horrifyingly, was apparently awake for the operation. It lurched, making Willow lose hold of the wire she was adjusting and curse.

"Don't leave, Spike! Willow is smart and will fix me, and then I will come back to your crypt with you. Would you like me to perform oral--"

Willow grimaced (or was it a malicious smile? Spike wouldn't put that past her) as she flipped some sort of standby switch, halting the bot in mid-sentence. "You can't take BuffyBot with you; she's important to our patrol needs."

Spike lost his temper. "And I'm not? Putting my unlife on the line for you ungrateful sods, and for what? She's dead, and gone, and I can't look at that--that thing."

His coat swung in a wide arc as he turned and headed for the DeSoto, shaking his head clean of the ghosts in this house.

No reason to stay in Sunnydale. He wasn't sure what he'd promised Buffy, but it certainly didn't include putting up with this. Nineteen days since she jumped, and every night he lived it all over again. Could do that anywhere.

***

Interesting tidbit her witchiness had served up, when Spike crawled out of the bottle long enough to help with patrol. Right before the funeral, when she'd gone looking for the magnificent poof, she hadn't found him nor his band of do-gooders.

When Spike hit LA, he headed for the place Team Angel supposedly wasn't. Spike had heard something about some foofy hotel, but looking at the Hyperion, it appeared to be run-down and somewhat trashed.

"Not exactly four-star, mate," Spike muttered, brushing papers off the front desk. He wasn't sure why he was here, but he had to go somewhere. And Angel was family, after all. Family with ghastly taste in furniture.

Still, nicer than Angel's digs back during that ring incident. Just thinking about that defeat made Spike kick an oversized round couch. Dust rose in a choking cloud. Seemed like Angel, Inc wasn't operating here any more.

Not much trouble waltzing around and poking into nooks and crannies. Typical Angel, with the impractical, outsized, high ceilings and the lot. After a cursory glance around the lobby, Spike made his way upstairs and conducted a quick, methodical search, heightened senses on alert.

Nothing and nobody to be seen.

Heading back downstairs and rummaging through what had to be Angel's office, though, Spike hit gold. Well, amber. He didn't figure Angel for much taste in Scotch, but somebody had left some Laphroaig. Single-malt heaven.

***

Nectar of the gods, Scotch was. Spike's head was a bit muddled, but he was mostly certain the bottle had been nearly full. Now, he was reaching the end of it, and pondering Angel's other choices of libation. As he downed a goodly gulp, he heard the click of high heels on the marble floor.

Spike stood, poked his head into the lobby, and affected an interested air. "Angel Investigations. We help those far too stupid to help themselves. Would that be you, love?"

The woman, confident, clearly proud, tossed her brunette curls over her shoulder and laughed. "Not as such, no. Now last we checked, Angel didn't have any punk rock vampires on staff."

"What makes you so sure I'm a vampire?"

"Who else can wear leather in LA in June without breaking a sweat?"

"Point to the lady." Spike tilted his head and looked at her quizzically.

"The name is Lilah Morgan. I'm with the firm Wolfram &amp; Hart."

Spike's face shaded; Dru had mentioned this outfit. Best proceed with caution. "Come to sue the old man? Cause I don't think he's here. Scarpered off with his merry band, or some such rot."

"Oh, we're well aware of Angel's unavailability. And we're aware of you, Spike."

"Are you, now?"

"We make it our business to keep track of Angel and his... relations." Lilah said that with a slight sneer, as if it were a dirty word. "In any event, Spike, I merely dropped by to welcome you to our lovely city and to give you this."

She held out a business card, proffered with a small manicured hand.

Spike took it, and then tilted his head. "Hold off, then; you know I'm a vampire, and yet you come to meet me? Alone? I know slayers, and you're no slayer."

Lilah smiled a cold smile. "And I know that you're harmless. It's not your brawn we seek to hire, it's your brains, such as they are."

"Harmless? I'll show you--"

Unflinching, Lilah continued, "We've been made aware that in her final battle, the last slayer was engaged in a struggle over an interdimensional key. We thought perhaps you might be able to help us figure out what had become of that key."

Spike shook his head. "Don't know a thing about keys, love. Picking locks is more my game."

Lilah looked at him with barely concealed scorn. "Undoubtedly. Nevertheless, if you think you have any information, call my office."

"And why should I help you?"

"We have files that indicate that you and Angel aren't on the best of terms."

"Bloody well right we're not."

"Enemy of your enemy?" She gave him a winsome smile before turning and leaving, click-clacking her heels across the floor. The sound echoed in the empty lobby, leaving Spike unaccountably bereft.

Clearly he needed more interaction with beings he wasn't in the process of killing. Kept a fellow sharp, and all that.

 

### Part 7

 

Lollipop smelled more of stale sweat and old smoke than of candy. Didn't seem to matter to the customers, who were drunken jocks and accountants and somebody's dad but not hers, never hers.

Not like there was any point to angsting over that. Fake smile, chest out, tips in bra, Dawn carefully made her way through the dimly lit room, checking on her tables. The dancers gyrated on the stage, each swaying slightly off the beat. Dawn's ballet teacher would have been horrified (for more reasons than the obvious).

Fourteen needed another round of overpriced non-booze to hit their two-drink minimum, and they'd only been there about ten minutes. That was pretty typical, and hey, the more they drank, the more hitting the ATM seemed like a good idea. A little more than juice was ending up in those glasses, but policing the flasks wasn't Dawn's problem. That would be bad for tips.

Scrawling down orders, Dawn tried not to bump into the dancers who'd spread out into the crowd, trading their presence during the span of a 3-minute pop song for the green yuppie food coupons in these guys' pockets. Pretty soon she'd figured out what every single guy in her section wanted. Well, beverage-wise, anyhow. Time to visit the always-cranky bartenders.

***

After delivering more orange juices and club sodas, Dawn took a quick break. Splashing some water on her face in the girls' dressing room, she looked up into the cracked mirror and saw Sofia at her locker.

Dawn smiled and flopped down on the cheap vinyl couch. "Hey."

"Hey yourself, muchacha," Sofia said with a smile. She slipped out of her tight black miniskirt and low-cut uniform top. "You doing well tonight?"

Dawn slid her feet out of her platform heels and flexed them with a happy sigh. "Yeah, that bachelor party was here for like three hours. Cha-ching!"

"So how are you liking the late shift?" Sofia asked, crossing in front of Dawn in her bra and thong. Leaning forward towards the mirror, she removed her heavy earrings and dabbed at her makeup.

"Tips are great," Dawn said. "Thanks so much for getting me in here."

Last month, chatting with half-naked girls would have weirded Dawn out. Nobody hung out in her bra after gym class. But in the couple of weeks she'd worked here, Dawn had seen so many completely nude girls that Sofia seemed Amish or something.

"De nada. It's a decent enough place to work, even if it is a dive. Anyhow, I'm taking off; going to catch Erin's gig."

"Cool. Tell their keyboardist to scowl more. Her emo thing is so not hardcore."

Sofia pulled jeans and a low-cut tank out of her locker and slammed it shut, but the door bounced open. "See? Falling apart!" She winked and headed out the back door.

Okay, break-time over. Dawn reluctantly slipped on her shoes. Ow. The waitresses wore black, so they wouldn't be confused with the dancers. But management still insisted on sexy, and apparently sexy equaled totally whorish shoes of foot-torturing doom.

Still, Lollipop beat Key's and Creepy Carl. These customers were too drunk and stupefied by all the (mostly plastic) breasts to bother the waitresses much. And there was no walk-in freezer.

Scanning her section, she saw a bowed head, shoulders shrugged out of a leather trenchcoat, hands fidgeting with a matte silver lighter. Great. The depressed ones barely tipped, and the smokers were always going outside, which was bad for their continued ordering.

But she couldn't ignore a customer. Pasting on a professional smile, she walked up to him.

"What can I get you to drink?"

The tacky disco balls up by the stage cast a flurry of colored light on bleached hair. Even before he lifted his head and looked her in the face, she recognized Spike.

"Don't much care. Your choice." He went back to playing with his lighter.

As she walked to the bar, Dawn's mind raced. Spike couldn't possibly recognize her. Could he? No way would he calmly order a drink from Buffy's little sister without so much as a "hey, how's the runaway thing working out for you?"

She sent a barback to deliver a brimming soda.

***

Dawn fidgeted in the dressing room, sitting for a minute on the ratty couch before finding herself too twitchy to hold still and jumping up to pace some more.

Why did Spike have to show up at her work? She couldn't very well hide out for the rest of her shift. She'd have to go out there and act like everything was normal. But it totally wasn't!

Maybe he would be gone when she went back out there. Not that she wanted him gone. Dawn sighed, sat back down on the couch, and pulled her knees up to her chin. The idea of him leaving made her feel all wibbly inside, like it would leave her irrevocably alone. Sofia and Erin were great and all, but they didn't *get* her the way Spike did.

What was he doing at a strip club, anyhow? Shouldn't he be helping with patrol or annoying Xander or mourning or something? Presumably everyone hadn't forgotten *him*.

Dawn felt bad as soon as she thought that. Yeah. They knew him, all right, or they thought they did. But she knew better. He was just like her, without the non-existing part. On the edge of the Scoobies, connected only via Buffy, and now that she was gone... Maybe he just wanted to forget.

Well, maybe Dawn wanted to forget too. Why bother with inhibitions? Dawn didn't exist anymore. She wasn't anyone's sister, anyone's daughter; there was no one to recognize her, no one to object. She was free to be as slutty as she wanted, right?

She stripped off her uniform and looked around the dressing room, settling on the battered lockers. Sofia's wasn't the only one that didn't close properly, and in the end locker of the bottom row, she found the perfect outfit: a skimpy schoolgirl blouse and a red-and-white plaid skirt so short she couldn't imagine bending.

She left a few bills to cover it; it wasn't like she was stealing or something. That would be a babyish way of getting attention, and Dawn was definitely not a little kid anymore.

As she adjusted the costume in the mirror, Dawn's face burned a little. Could she actually go out there wearing pretty much nothing? And then take it off in front of (Spike) people?

Dawn flopped back down on the couch and sighed. She sucked at being bad.

The break-room door creaked open, and Dawn crossed her legs and arms. Eek.

A blonde girl she hadn't seen before staggered in. Oh, right... there was a feature performer tonight, some washed-up porn star named Sapphire. She seemed more plastic than most, in all the right places.

"Is there any bottled water?" Sapphire rasped.

"Uh, just the sink... wait," Dawn said, rummaging in her locker. "Here you go. It's room temperature, but unopened." Handing the bottle over, Dawn smiled gingerly.

"You're a lifesaver," Sapphire said. "You just come on? Didn't see you out there."

"Ah, I'm not... I'm new," Dawn improvised. "First night, actually. I think I'm too nervous to go out there."

Sapphire smiled, unlocking one of the working lockers and pulling out a shiny leather purse. "You just need a little help." She waved a teensy baggie of white powder at Dawn, and broke into a smile.

Dawn was pretty sure that drugs were Evil and Bad. She opened her mouth to say no thanks, and ended up with, "Uh, I've never--"

Dipping a finger in the baggie, Sapphire brought it to her nostril and sniffed it delicately. She made it look so easy.

"Your turn, sweetie," the dancer said. "Just sniff a little, and you'll feel so much better." She held out the baggie.

Dawn quailed for a minute before dipping her index finger in the powder and inhaling, sniffling a little at the unfamiliar sensation.

"Should drugs tickle?" she asked.

Sapphire grinned. "Honey, the tickling's later. Now get your cute little ass on that stage." She swept back out into the loud, dark club.

Peeking at the mirror, Dawn grinned. Maybe it was the coke, or maybe it was a late-breaking bout of self-confidence.

"At my age, Buffy was doing it with Angel. To which I can only say eww," Dawn told her reflection. "So I can do this." She powdered her face, sprinkled glitter everywhere, and reapplied her lipstick.

Kissing the mirror, she headed for the stage door.

***

Eyes half-closed, glitter glinting heavily on her lids, Dawn gyrated to the intro song. The stage lights were bright, and as all the girls posed, still dressed, Dawn could sense the collective temperature in the room rising to a fever pitch.

Song over, the DJ drawled and the dancers scattered around the room. Dawn sauntered among the other girls who were bartering imagination for a crisp twenty. All their plastic effervescence reminded Dawn of the robot that wasn't her sister. She shoved all such thoughts deep inside as she crossed the length of the club, a little dizzy and buzzing.

Dawn stepped over a spilled drink and past one of the girls who'd already bent to entice a seated suit-wearing type. Heading a rival off at the pass, she leaned down to Spike and imitated the breathy tone the real dancers used.

"Hi there, honey. I'm Aurora. Want me to dance for you?"

 

### Part 8

 

Spike was having a sodding miserable night, like all nights in this godforsaken world. He'd had a pleasant drunk going at a merely topless (and liquor-serving) club before he told the girls leaning off the stage to piss off and the toughs threw him out on his ear for disrespecting the ladies.

Truth be told, he didn't much want a dance here; he wanted to be steeped in the sin and sensation, with the numbing magic of the bourbon in his flask and the constant stimulation of the girls washing over him and making him forget.

Then one pretty girl leaned over him, her features resolving out of the haze, and said something about dancing. Momentarily maudlin, he thought of all the dancing he'd done with Buffy over the years.

Still, no help for it. A bloke had to go on.

"A bit of dosh for ya, then." He handed her a Ben Franklin, crossed his hands behind his head, and sat open-kneed and arrogant, miming a posture he didn't feel, an empty imitation of his former self.

The girl smiled a practiced, professional smile, leaning in and placing her palms on his shoulders, then running the backs of her hands down his chest. Back to the shoulders, affording him a look down the tiny white blouse knotted under her small breasts. Then she looked at him steadily before untying the blouse and dropping it in his lap.

As she danced, he felt drawn to this girl. Long limbs, narrow features, dark hair, she reminded him vaguely of his lost Dru (though Dru never much went in for the naughty schoolgirl look). But there was something else, an underlying scent, an impression in the way she moved. Something unnatural?

Confident, yeah, but not brash. Acting sure of herself, but with a chink in the armor here and there. Reminded him just a little of-- Bloody hell. This was supposed to be a distraction, right, supposed to help him forget. He wasn't here to mope over one more dead Slayer, much as he may have loved her, loved her enough to-- His mind shied away.

A turn away and a few more rolls of her hips, and the dancer dropped her tiny pleated skirt. Leaning in, she ground her firm arse against him. Spike tried to keep his mind on Buffy.

There had been a promise, that last night. That much he knew. But what that promise had been, he couldn't dredge out of his memory.

"Too much booze has brought you to this at last, old man," he muttered under his breath. "Soap-opera amnesia."

The girl turned back towards him, now wearing only a tiny thong. She ran her hands over her small, high, perfect breasts. He realized with a start how young she was; hard to tell under all the heavy makeup, but a long look at her body made him certain she wasn't working here legally.

Spike felt oddly protective towards her; why, he couldn't say. And why would he? Plying her trade, right? Nothing amiss with that. Still, he was uneasy. Glancing up, he briefly surveyed the room to be sure no other man was staring at--

"What did you say your name was, love?"

"Aurora."

She leaned in, breaking his concentration, bringing her nipples so close to his lips he wondered if he could flick his tongue out and lick them without the wary security noticing.

Then she leaned away, arching her back. Right. Something fleeting, then... but like morning's light, far beyond his grasp.

"And why isn't a child of the day like yourself home sleeping, exhausted from a busy study date with some bookish type, then?"

She smiled and stepped out of that last tiny bit of cloth, pulling it over one shiny high-heeled shoe and then another.

Spike was surprised to realize that she was actually aroused; he didn't expect that of strippers, and certainly most of the women in the room (the odd client aside) clearly saw this as strictly business.

He was distracted from his thoughts by her undulations; turning away from him and spreading her legs to shoulder-width, she bent and wriggled her delicious little arse in the most enticing manner. He wanted to lick it, and her, all over.

Distantly, he wondered what had become of the jaded, grief-crushed vampire who'd come into this place looking for distraction. That he'd found, of a certainty; what was it about this girl?

Smelling her delightful fresh scent he felt the crushing hand of grief squeeze his heart anew. Too bad the rest of his body wasn't cooperating with his mind. He shifted in his seat, harder than ever.

Why did this girl smell like Buffy?

It wasn't just a scent of Slayer; he'd known that sweet taste before. But through some accident of blood, perhaps of distant relation, this child-woman had an aura of his lost Slayer about her.

The song ended, and the girl held his gaze for a minute before dropping her eyes and blushing. She bent to pick up her discarded outfit, teetered on her high heels. She attached the short plaid skirt with its velcro waistband and tied the tiny scrap of a white schoolgirl blouse.

A large man at the next table looked at her with open lust, and Spike was seized with an inexplicable anger.

The man waved a twenty at the dancer, saying, "I'm aching for some naughty schoolgirl action. Let's go to a private room, babe."

Spike steeled himself, but the girl surprised him by flushing deeper, down to the tops of her breasts, and running out of the club. Spike shook his head. Best not to get involved.

But when the beefy no-good at the next table grabbed his jacket and followed her, Spike shrugged into his duster and loped after them. He smelled trouble.

When Spike got out to the alley, the creep was pinning the dancer against the brick wall, holding both her wrists in one oversized paw, and reaching roughly under her skirt with the other. She was struggling and yelping, crying out louder when she saw Spike.

"Hands off the girl," Spike yelled, launching himself at the wanker.

The chip kicked in as Spike hit him, but momentum carried both of them to the cracked asphalt. Ignoring the searing pain of the chip firing, Spike pulled his head back and slammed it against the man's, grinning at the satisfying crunch as he blacked out in a synapse overload.

***

Stars blinked, northern lights flared, beams of sunlight arced.

Morning was coming; he could smell it, the approaching sun prickling the back of his neck and awakening his instinct to run.

Spike cracked one eye open. He was lying on the ground in an alley. No stars in the city, and he was too far south for the aurora borealis. Aurora.

Reaching up and touching his temple, which was heavy and sticky with blood, Spike cursed and climbed out of the putrid trash.

Standing, he found himself dizzy. Head wounds did tend to bleed, and he wasn't c  
ertain how long he'd been lying there. He wondered if that stripper had got away safe.

Then hands, soft voice, and that smell. Buffy. No. Aurora.

"Spike. Spike, do you hear me?" she asked urgently.

His head swam in confusion, but one thing was clear. "I never told you my name."

She hesitated before rallying. "Yes, you did. Come on. We need to get you someplace safe before sunrise."

"How did you...Wait just one bloody... Somebody messing with my head again? More research? I'm no bloody lab rat. Or is it magic? Don't trust the stuff..."

An arm beneath his, wrapped around his waist, quieted him.

He become aware she was still aroused. His awareness sharpened until it was the only thing in his perceptions.

She only needed to speak one word to snap him back to reality. "Please."

Spike let her support him as he limped in the general direction of his car, parked illegally a block away. He brushed the parking ticket off onto the street, never letting go of her waist.

When she opened the unlocked door, he fell into the back seat of the DeSoto and into darkness once more.

 

### Part 9

 

Dawn would have gotten her learner's permit this summer if things had been normal. Hah. As if her life had ever been normal. And driving an antique -- make that an antique with a clutch, while a semi-conscious vampire tossed and turned in the back -- was not helping with the "normal" quotient.

But it wasn't like she could just leave him to rot in his car. Not after he'd saved her from that horrible creep who'd left bruises on her thighs. She just hoped he would be okay, and non-brain-fried. That chip had done a number on him.

Without planning to, she ran a red light. She hoped the drugs were wearing off, but she was awfully jumpy and had no patience for idling when there was an empty cross-street. Her heart raced as she waited for a siren and flashing lights, but no cops seemed to be around. Whew.

When they got back to the apartment building, it was quiet and dark. She mostly dragged him through the hallway to the apartment door, with more energy to spare than she usually had after a shift at Lollipop.

"Come in, Spike," she said.

She wasn't sure if he heard her at first, but he half-opened one swollen eye and staggered over the threshold. She looked around and saw that, to her great relief, Erin and Sofia weren't around; their door was open.

"Must have been some show," Dawn murmured. "Good for them."

She helped Spike onto her futon and fetched a wet washcloth, wiping the worst of the blood off his face. She closed the curtains for safety; soon enough, sun would splash in off the balcony.

Coming back to the futon, Dawn cuddled with Spike. He responded, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and blinking awake.

"What's this, then, love?" he asked, looking around the apartment.

"I brought you home," she said. "Thanks for watching out for me."

Lying with Spike like this, Dawn was overwhelmed with need. His lower lip was bleeding, but she didn't care. She kissed him, gently at first and then with more urgency.

"Are you sure--" he asked, before she shut him up with another kiss.

His tongue probed hers, exploring her mouth, and she reciprocated. Pulling back a minute to breathe and look at him, she saw raw longing and need in his eyes. And maybe the slightest shading of fear? Her sister had rejected him so unflinchingly that perhaps Spike expected every woman to follow suit.

Leaning in again, Dawn deliberately ran her tongue over his split lip. His blood tasted just like hers, metallic and sharp. Maybe they were both monsters, but they were people first.

Kissing him made her feel warm all over. Her breasts ached to be touched, and she instinctively ground against his hardness. Hot and throbbing and flushed all over, she longed for more. But she was nervous, too; would Spike figure out that she was nothing but Buffy's baby sister? She knew these were false pretenses, but if this was the only way she could have him...

She pulled his shirt over his head (yum; sixpack) and then he untied her schoolgirl blouse, cupping a breast and trailing his fingers over her skin. He licked her nipples and continued down her belly, flipping up her plaid skirt. Her thong had disappeared at some point; it was probably somewhere on the floor back at the club. (Ick.)

Dawn was glad she'd listened to Sofia and tried shaving. His tongue tickled a bit, but she felt more grown-up shaved smooth, more like the girls at the club. Spike's tongue danced on her, finding her clit and tickling.

She giggled. "Orally fixated much?"

Spike grinned. "You have no idea, love."

"You're not the only one," she said with a smile. THE SEX still seemed scary, but she could do this. Unbuttoning his jeans, she licked her lips.

***

After, she was happy to see that Spike fell into some semblance of sleep. It didn't seem as restful as it should, though.

Spike shifted in his sleep, uncomfortable and awkward. His face all twisted up (but non vampy), he growled, "I love you. I promise you I'll protect her, never let anything hurt her, till the end of the world."

Dawn wondered if his world ended weeks ago when Buffy dove from the tower.

***

Blinking awake, Dawn found herself alone on the futon. She peeked in the bathroom, but it was empty. Looked like the night owls got in while she was sleeping, judging from their closed door, but Spike wouldn't be in there.

Her stomach lurched as she opened the apartment door and looked down the long, deserted hallway. She closed it again and sat heavily on the futon, feeling nauseous. No note, no phone number, no Spike.

Maybe she wasn't good. They didn't have all the sex; there was no putting of... anything in... anywhere else. That must have been unfun for him. She guessed he'd decided she was no match for his ideal of Buffy. Not like he knew who Dawn was, but she'd bet he compared all girls to Buffy. It was hard enough being the little sister (even if she wasn't really anymore), and now for him to come home with her and then leave without a word? Dawn bit her lip.

Little girls cried; grown women took showers and went to their crappy jobs. Dawn wasn't a little girl anymore, and anyhow, the shower washed away any evidence of tears.

***

Spike woke in the morning and got out before he couldn't bring himself to leave. This Aurora girl awakened protective feelings in him (never mind the lust) and yet he couldn't even effectively beat up a bar tough. Wouldn't do.

He dug through the empty bottles and crumpled papers under the DeSoto's seats until he located the card from the smug lawyer bint.

Lilah Morgan, it read. Time to meet with this fallen woman.

***

The bar was all polished brass and old wood, and the staff had their noses turned up in such a way that it put Spike in mind of Darla and her airs. His reminiscing about the bad old days came to a halt when Lilah's husky voice curled around him.

"I see you've come around to our way of thinking, Spike." Lilah spoke his name unctuously and sat across from him, crossing her legs.

"Listen, I've got no truck with you lawyers. We may share an annoyance in the form of me old grand-sire, but I don't owe you anything. I just want to cut a deal."

"I'm listening." Her smug expression belied her polite phrasing.

"I have information about that Key. But it's hard for me to think, what with all the wires zapping my noggin."

"Of course. We can certainly clear your head." She flipped open her cellphone and spoke a few muffled words.

An older gent came into the bar, all haunted eyes and greying hair. He approached their table, leaned in, and looked into Spike's eyes as if probing. The man's knees buckled and he looked with a bit of longing at the chairs, but he seemed to think that hovering and concentrating was the better option.

Spike felt a quick searing pain, as if a chip headache had multiplied enormously. Lilah's face swam before him, lips parted and breathing quickened. "Bloody hell, woman..." he managed, before falling silent. A quiet click echoed as something dropped on the wooden table in front of him.

The sorcerer walked away with an uneasy gait. Lilah's mocking tones followed him out. "Many thanks, Mr. Rayne. We'll be in touch."

Spike picked up the tiny piece of plastic and wire off the table and stared in horrified wonder. It seemed too small to have changed his unlife so much.

Lilah plucked it out of his hand. "I'll take that; our science team always appreciates a working sample of Initiative tech. It's so rare to extract one; they tend to-- you know." She stood, brushed her hands as if dropping dust, arched an eyebrow at him. "So, about that key?"

"It all starts with this Glory bint and her pet energy matrix. See, she needed a way home..."

 

### Part 10

 

Dawn slunk in the back door at Lollipop and got to her locker before anyone saw her. But once in uniform and out on the floor, she ran into Nick, aka Cranky Waitstaff Manager Guy. He looked less happy than usual.

"You're lucky I'm not firing you for that stunt you pulled last night," Nick growled.

Dawn flushed. "I--I didn't mean anything by it. I just--"

"Lost a bet?" Nick supplied. "Look, kid, I didn't ask for ID to let you wait tables. But you're too jailbait to dance here; we could get shut down. And what the fuck were you thinking, walking off your shift? You know how hard it is to get another waitress in after midnight?"

"I--I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"Damn right it won't. Now get your ass out on the floor and take some orders. You've got the whole front room tonight; seems to be Sofia's turn to blow off work."

"Ah, she was out all night," Dawn said. "So I think she's probably sleeping in."

Nick's knowing look made her blush some more.

"Right. Front room." Dawn plastered on her fake smile and went to sell some overpriced soft drinks. And if she kept watching the door, well, maybe it was to stay on top of arriving customers. Not like she needed to be on top, necessarily... and her mind wandered as she took orders.

***

Someday, Dawn needed to take her uniform to the laundromat, but that day wasn't going to be today. Shift over, she gratefully traded heels and tight clothing for a worn baby tee, shorts, and flip-flops. Ah, relief.

When she stepped, blinking, outside the perpetual darkness of the club, it was almost morning. The sky was that peculiar pinkish-gray it got before sunlight crept up around the edges of the world. Dawn saw far too many sunrises these days; they used to belong more to Buffy.

Stopping at a bakery for a quick pastry, she gulped it down as she walked. She hoped Spike was somewhere safe, or even back in her apartment, since her faint notion that he might show up at the club had faded. Entertaining a fantasy of him waiting for her made her breath quicken as she walked up the stairs.

Rummaging in her backpack for her keys, she located them and looked up only to find their apartment door ajar. That couldn't be good.

A figure slouched on the futon, silent and limp. Dawn drew in a sharp breath as she turned on the light. Erin's face was pale. Her head lolled back, revealing her throat torn open. There was blood on her neck, in her hair, all over the futon and the floor.

Dawn ran for the bathroom, because there was no way that croissant was staying down.

Was this her fault? It had to be a vampire, and Dawn was the one who invited Spike in. She didn't want to believe it was Spike, but who else could it be? She'd seen the chip working, but maybe -- maybe he'd fried it, overloaded the circuits and made it stop policing the killer in him.

Wiping off her mouth and splashing water on her face, she steeled herself before walking back out into the living room.

Spike had teased her, licked her, made her come. She'd been totally vulnerable to him, and he hadn't hurt her. But this, this was what the monster inside him really was. And once again, she brought death and destruction down on the people who cared about her.

Where was Sofia? Was she dead too? If not, Dawn didn't want Sofia to see this; she couldn't call the police, but she didn't know what to do.

Oh, shit. What if Spike had fed Erin some blood? With all the blood everywhere, Dawn couldn't tell. Holding her breath, Dawn grabbed Erin's body under her arms and dragged it onto the eastern-facing balcony.

***

Dawn sat on the floor next to the futon, holding her knees and clutching an old cross of Buffy's that had been in the bottom of her backpack and now hung around her neck. The glass doors to the balcony were still open, and she'd tied the corpse to the railing, where the sun would hit it in a little while.

Sofia ambled in through the still-gaping door, looking tired and a bit absent. Dawn stumbled to her feet and bit her lip, trying to find a way to explain.

"Sofia, something terrible happened."

"Si, mija, you made a questionable fashion choice. Those trendy Threadless shirts suck."

"Sofia, no. This is serious. Erin..."

"Oh, pff. Erin was yesterday. You're today."

Dawn could just kick herself, as Sofia turned to her with gleaming yellow eyes and a ridged brow. Of course Erin would have let Sofia in. And how could she have doubted Spike?

"Bonita, let's be reasonable. You and I, together forever. No tiresome band practices and evenings in dive bars clapping for shitty opening bands; just the two of us, with glitter and perfume and sex..."

Sofia moved closer and closer as she spoke, ending in a crouch by Dawn's feet. She snuggled there and sniffed. "Mmm, you smell so delicious, like sex and wickedness."

Sofia rubbed a soft cheek on Dawn's knee and then deliberately ran her tongue along Dawn's bare thigh, ending with a flick under the hem of her shorts. Dawn gasped and gritted her teeth.

Sofia continued, "We'll bathe in the blood of the not-so-innocent of this sparkling town. Sound good, chica?"

"Not so much." Dawn reached inside her collar and unclasped the cross. Biting her lip, she pressed it against Sofia's rouged cheek.

The sizzling and smell were horrible. How did Buffy stand it? Dawn jumped over the back of the futon, away from Sofia's screams. A quick look at the apartment's open door made Dawn discard the idea of running. Long, dark hallways plus enraged vampire equalled not getting far.

The balcony, though -- by now, sunlight was spilling through the wrought-iron railing. Smoke started rising from Erin's blood-covered corpse as Dawn hurried out the balcony doors, past the body and to the far rail. This corner of the balcony, farthest from the glass doors, was bathed in light. Sun warmed the back of Dawn's neck.

Sofia hissed and clawed from the safety of the darkened apartment, but couldn't quite reach her without braving the sun. Dawn averted her eyes from the twitching heap of clothing and ash that moaned and then disappeared into dust.

Hissing incoherently, Sofia disappeared back into the apartment. Dawn could hear her rustling around; that couldn't be good.

No way off this balcony but down. Dawn swung around the edge of the railing and started to descend. It was scary since she didn't have a good grip on the metal, and the railing was pretty rusty. In more than one place, the ancient paint flaked off under her hands.

The fire escape started shaking. Dawn looked up and saw a yellow-eyed, blanket-covered Sofia rattling it. Her hissing was mixed with horrible animalistic growls.

Dawn shrieked as the metal railing started to give way. It loosened from the building at the top, and she had a hard time holding on. She concentrated. No time for bad flashbacks. Definitely not thinking of gratings, of towers, of Buffy falling. Definitely not watching Spike fall, feeling the cuts...

The thin slices had healed up cleanly, not scarring, but she felt an ache there now. And she could taste the sticky, acrid vamp dust that had been Erin. It burned her throat and eyes, but she couldn't let go to wipe them.

Grasping the rickety old fire escape and climbing down, drenched in the too-cheery morning light, she scraped her palms and wrists in several places. The slick blood made holding on more difficult. Dawn felt herself slipping. Then she heard Spike.

"Aurora! Hold on, love; I'm coming for you!"

Looking down, Dawn saw Spike rushing down the alley. He wasn't going to make it through the direct sunlight if he tried to jump up here.

Gritting her teeth at the pain in her hands, Dawn held the outside of the ladder, sliding down at a breakneck pace.

When she felt her hands slip off the bottom, she closed her eyes.

 

### Part 11

 

For weeks, Dawn's dreams (well, nightmares) had been of falling. Buffy, Spike, Dawn herself, and Buffy again.

The reality of falling was nowhere near as bad as she had imagined. It was all so quick: slick blood, slipping hands, and the ground rushing towards her at 9.8 meters per second squared. Hey, that college-prep physics class was good for something.

Instead of turning into roadkill, she landed with a soft thud in the leather-clad arms of a slightly smoking Spike. Coat pulled over his head, he rushed them back to the safety of the shadowy alley. Sofia's hissing curses faded into the background noise of the waking city.

"No safe refuge, that," Spike said, carrying Dawn towards the opposite end of the alley. "Shouldn't make a habit of inviting vampires in. What happened back there, pet?"

"My roommates," Dawn said quietly. She nestled into his shoulder, feeling secure despite the ache in her hands and the worry bubbling up in her stomach.

In the shadow of a crumbling brownstone, Spike's car sat at an angle, the driver's-side door open. He carried her around to the passenger side, opening the door and setting her gently on the seat.

She tilted her head up at him, trying to focus through the inconvenient woozy feeling. There was something important... "I woke up yesterday and you were gone. Where were you all day?"

"Needed to see a bloke about a little problem. Now my head's all clear." Spike closed Dawn's door carefully, then vaulted across the giant hood of his car (why did it need to be so huge? did they put jet engines in everything back then?) to his own side. He peeled out of the alley like an action hero.

Apparently vampires didn't worry about seatbelt laws. Whipping forward with the speed of their acceleration, Dawn caught herself on the dash and then winced; her palms and wrists were slick with blood.

"Sorry, love. Just wanted to get you to safety," Spike said, but he wasn't looking at the road or at Dawn's face. He seemed fascinated by her hands. Dawn fought the impulse to twist them under her shirt. She wasn't afraid of him. Not of Spike.

She kept telling herself that as he took her hand. And it was true. She shivered, but not from fear. There was something erotic about how Spike's eyes flicked over her, how he reached with his non-steering right hand and took her left hand in his.

Spike raised her hand to his mouth and hesitated for a long minute before licking her wrist in a precise, careful motion. She should probably be grossed out, but it felt good, like when you lick a papercut clean.

And the way Spike looked at her made her warm and tingly. Her hands didn't hurt at all any more. Instead, she ached in a different way, her breath coming faster. She didn't know where they were going, and she wasn't sure how much attention Spike was paying to traffic, but none of that seemed to matter.

Another long lap of his tongue, and he paused with just the tips of her fingers between his lips, eyes full of wary confusion as he let go of her hand.

Dawn had just enough warning to brace herself before Spike slammed on the brakes and looked at her with a sudden certainty.

"Dawn."

 

### Part 12

 

"How did this happen, Dawn?" Spike stared at the inside of the windshield as if he could crack the black paint with his thoughts.

Better question: why did he suddenly recognize her? "Yeah, a stalled car right before a major intersection is the ideal place for a heart-to-heart," Dawn said, uneasy at the shift in his mood.

"I'm meant to protect you, and instead I've been seducing you," Spike said, shaking his head slowly. "Was it a spell? I didn't know it was you, or I would never..."

Dawn winced. Spike didn't have to finish that thought. He would never have looked at her as a woman, let alone touched her. How would she justify crawling all over him instead of telling him the truth?

"When Buffy--" Dawn gulped and went on, "jumped, I-- at first I thought everyone was just ignoring me, but it was more than that. It was like I didn't exist. I was even gone from a photo on our wall. Even you didn't know me. And now I guess my blood--"

Spike nodded without looking at her. "Convinced me that you're Bitty Buffy, real as can be."

Dawn scrambled for the right words, the words that could fix this rift between them. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I couldn't take having you looking at me all blank and not believing me. It was easier this way." Okay, that sounded like a load of crap, even to her.

"And the dancing? You toying with old Spike, all unawares? That supposed to be a prank?" He looked up at her, eyes wounded.

Dawn bit her lip to keep it from wobbling. "No, I never... I mean, I meant..." She scooted over on the bench seat next to him and rested her hand on his leg. "I'm sorry. Just let me try to explain."

Spike's face closed and he shifted his leg away from her hand. "How about instead I go chat with that roommate of yours?" he growled.

Dawn swallowed. "As in crush, bite, destroy? Are you that mad at me? I didn't mean--"

The blare of car horns drowned out her pathetic attempt at an apology. Spike turned the key and brought the car stuttering back to life. He pulled through the intersection, turning left in front of an SUV before accelerating sharply.

Silence stretched awkwardly between them. It took a block or three before Dawn could think of something to say. "So, how's Sunnydale?" Oh, the lame. It burned.

At least Spike seemed relieved at the change of topic. "All right peachy when I cleared out. The Witch is a power-mad control freak with an animatronic toy thinks it's Buffy, Xander's drinking as much as I do, and Giles decided that the other side of the pond suited him better. Couldn't patrol with that lot anymore, so I decided to take it to LA."

Good, this was the right approach. Get him talking about something that wasn't her and wasn't what they'd been doing. "So now you're Vampy the Vampire Slayer?"

"Yeah, funny, that," Spike sneered. "You'd think the Council would have had a new one pop up and would have sent her to this year's Hellmouth vacation spa, all good and proper."

Whoops. Not light topic. Dawn had a sinking feeling. "Oh. Don't think they get a new one until... Oh. OH!"

"What?" Spike asked, genuinely puzzled.

Dawn sighed. "We need to warn Faith."

"How's that?"

"You said Giles left for England. Doesn't that mean he's going to tell the Council that Bu-- that their slayer is gone?"

"Suppose so."

"They tried to kill Faith before. When she was Buffy, and Buffy was her." Dawn could read the whatthefuck all over Spike's face. "It was like right after you got chipped. Faith was all comafied and then she woke up and was holding me and Mom hostage and switched bodies with Buffy--"

"Hold on. You mean to tell me that the saucy bint teasing me in a most un-Buffy way wasn't your dearly departed sis at all?"

"Nope, Faith was running around in Buffy's body, causing all kinds of trouble."

"You don't say." A slow smile ghosted over his face for a minute, but it was soon gone. "So when the Council figures out there's no heir, they're going to do away with the spare."

Dawn smiled despite everything. "Quit talking British, freakjob."

"So where's this paragon of virtue? Assuming we care, that is?"

"In prison somewhere," Dawn admitted. "I don't know if we want to break her out, 'cause she can't really stay in Sunnydale and slay if she's wanted. And plus, there's the killing people thing."

"But if we don't get to her first, the Council will," Spike said slowly. "And that bothers you? What with the hostage-taking and body-switching?"

Dawn gave him her best "duh" look, eyeroll included. "You don't happen to have the number for a good lawyer, I suppose?"

Spike smiled wryly. "Ask and ye shall receive. Well, technically an evil lawyer, but she'll do."

"Now you have evil lawyer buddies?"

"Actually Angel's evil lawyer buddies," Spike said as they pulled up to a marble building. "Much like this is his hotel. Let's get your hands cleaned up and then raid the weapons cabinet."

Dawn allowed herself to smile as they got out of the car. Maybe everything was going to be okay.

***

In the spacious lobby bathroom, Spike rinsed off Dawn's hands, trying not to watch the blood swirling down the drain and trying not to think about her the way he'd been thinking about the fictitious Aurora.

She caught his eye as he was reaching for the hydrogen peroxide. "Hungry?" Dawn asked. She held out a hand, wrist upturned in offering. Fresh blood beaded on the abrasions.

His cock twitched, but he darkened his gaze and shook his head. "Don't tempt me."

Dawn licked her lips. "What? I'm bleeding anyway; what's the problem?"

Almost more than he could bear. "The problem is that I'm a monster, or at least I was. I want to be a man, and a good one." He tilted his head at Dawn. "That means no preying on the girl I'm sworn to protect."

Dawn gave him a serious look. "I trust you, Spike." She grinned. "Kiss it and make it better?"

"Not a game, then?" he asked, steadying his voice so it didn't betray him.

"Never was," she replied, reaching towards him.

Taking her hand, he licked up her palm and across her wrist, cleaning the wound with his tongue and soothing it. A few more laps, soft on the abraded skin, and she leaned in to kiss him, her tongue darting into his still-bloody mouth.

Spike pulled away, shaken. He'd sworn to protect her, and this was quite the opposite. He poured peroxide on her scrapes, making Dawn gasp, and bound them with gauze and bandages. Leaving her in the bathroom, he paced out into the main lobby, kicking that damned couch.

Dawn followed him, indignant. "So now that I'm back to being just Dawn, you suddenly don't want me anymore?"

Spike shook his head and sprawled on the round, high-backed couch. Exasperated, he tried to explain. "We can't."

"Why? Why why why? I need you. I need this." Dawn slid onto his lap, nibbling at his bottom lip and grinding against him.

Desire raged in him, but he tried once more to talk her out of this. He didn't push her off, but he stopped her with a hand to her shoulder. "My innocent little Nibblet - you don't need me. You need silly teen boys and fumbling in cars and sporting matches and spring dances." As he was saying this, Spike could imagine her objections.

And of course, Dawn provided them. "I don't want any of that. I'm not Buffy! I don't want to be a normal girl! I just want you." Dawn ran her hands under Spike's shirt and then pulled it over his head, trapping his arms behind his head.

"You deserve better than a monster," he protested, but she ignored him. Reluctantly, he let the shirt drop.

She ran her palms over his bare chest and rained kisses on him like so much guilt. "You think I can go back to caring about making the cheer squad and listening to gossip in the girls' room?" Dawn pulled her shirt over her head and flung it on the floor. "Yeah, that's dire. Real dark." Her shorts followed her shirt and she stepped out of her panties.

"And I'm meant to protect you from all things dark," Spike protested. But he was a weak and useless sot, so he let her unbutton his jeans, sliding them over his hips to pool on the tops of his boots. He reached down to pull off his boots and she helped him. He was an oathbreaker now and twice damned, but he didn't much care at the moment.

Dawn straddled him as soon as Spike freed his legs, planting kisses on him and rubbing hot and wet against him, her small breasts bobbing with her indignation. He licked one nipple and then the other, reveling in her little gasps.

"It's a little late to shelter me! I've played human sacrifice. I watched my sister jump to her death. I'm not a little girl anymore. I can't go back." She slid up against him, cunt against cock, slick and gasping, almost reaching the point of connection.

Spike held her hips and stroked her ass, guiding her but not pushing. Something was bothering him, and he babbled in protest as his mind raced.

"I can't protect you if I'm the monster you need to fear. Even made a deal to get that fucking chip out so I could--" Spike stopped stroking her ass abruptly as she gasped and slid firmly down onto him. "Bollocks."

 

 

### Part 13

 

Just when the sex was getting good, Spike turned into some kind of crazy person. He got all sweary and British and stopped moving his hips -- which, since that moving felt delish, was sucky. Sitting like this in his lap, with the naked straddling and the unfamiliar feeling of fullness, Dawn had been all sorts of happy up until the stopping.

"Hey, you trying to tease me?" Dawn purred, giving her hips an extra wriggle. "Cause I'm the one doing the teasing here, mister."

"Dawn, no. We need to-- We can't be doing this now." Spike lifted her bodily off him and set her on her feet before hastily fastening his jeans.

Way before Dawn got to the point of having sex (with Spike or anyone), she figured out that the scariest part wasn't the actual sex; it was vulnerability. Opening herself up to Spike that way meant risking, you know, rejection. Not that he would ever... except suddenly he was.

She crossed her arms over her breasts and took a couple of deep breaths. They helped; instead of Plan A (crying) she went right to Plan B (pissed). "Now who's playing games? We start having sex and suddenly you have a crisis of conscience? A little late for that, don't you think?"

"Didn't you hear what I said? She knows. Angel's pet lawyer bint knows because I opened my stupid sodding mouth." Spike retrieved his shirt from the floor and buttoned it crooked.

Clarity was coming back to Dawn now through the haze of sensation. There *had* been a little pain. Hers, and not Spike's. And what did that have to do with... "Lawyers? Huh? What did you say about your chip?"

Spike looked abashed. "Thought getting it out would help me protect you."

"And you didn't think that maybe you should have mentioned that right away?" She squished down that little bit of her that was excited by the danger of being with an unchipped vampire.

Spike tilted his head. "Does it make a difference?"

Yes. It was an issue of trust. "No. Look," Dawn said, clumsily pulling her shorts back on, "what are you so worried about?"

"Made a deal to get the chip out." Spike looked at her, all intense and wounded."Told a dangerous woman everything I knew about the Key, stupid bastard that I am."

Dawn winced. "Spike, you didn't tell her--"

"Not that I knew all that much, yeah? But enough to bring her and her leashed wizard sniffing about."

"So she doesn't really know--" Dawn looked around, suddenly suspicious of the high ceilings and cobwebby corners. "You said she knew Angel?"

"Yeah, this may not be the best hidey-hole. We should get moving."

***

"Should you?" Standing in the doorway was a cool, collected, well-groomed woman in a suit. She raised a smug eyebrow as Spike re-buttoned his shirt. Dawn flipped her hair and stared defiantly, before she realized...

Eep! Still topless! Dawn whirled around and pulled on her shirt, blushing.

"Intrude much, do we, Lilah?" Spike snarked.

"You were helpful enough to give me information my psychics could use."

Dawn composed her face and cautiously turned to face the door, worried that her breathing changed enough to make this Lilah person notice.

"My psychics have pinpointed interdimensional activity centered in this hotel, and since you were so helpful before..." Lilah sauntered into the lobby, and behind her came this wrinkled geezer Dawn was pretty sure she'd seen before. "We were hoping to enlist your help again."

Spike spoke with what sounded to Dawn like false confidence. Definitely nervous. "Right, then. You're looking for a good go-round of this joint and you want Ghostbusters there to have some help with the sniffing."

The old man's voice sounded rusty, like it needed WD-40 or something. "The vampire comes to understand." A British accent, but more polished than Spike's...

Ack! Dawn knew who this was. He was that old friend of Giles', the one with the costume shop that made you into your costume (in Dawn's case, the Wicked Witch of the West) and the Buffy-tattooing and the possible Giles-seducing if you listened to Xander. Dawn was pretty sure that Ethan couldn't recognize her, what with the being erased from reality. But was it her imagination or was he looking at her funny?

"We're even," Spike was saying when she started paying attention again. "Info for the chip out. You want more, I'll need the same."

"Assuming it's possible, what do you want?" Lilah asked this like she thought she knew the answer.

"Slayer by the name of Faith. Do your evil lawyer thing and spring her from prison." Spike tilted his head in a way Dawn found too cute for words, despite their dire situation. Somehow she didn't think Lilah was seeing the cute, though.

Lilah raised an eyebrow. "And why, I wonder, does a notorious vampire want a Slayer on the loose? Looking to add to your kill list?"

"Yeah, that's right," Spike said with a hint of a grin. "She and I have a score to settle. Something along the lines of a promise unfulfilled."

Lilah looked uninterested. "Well, it just so happens that Wolfram and Hart has had... *unproductive* dealings with that young lady in the past. She's not useful for our agenda. Arrangements could be made."

Spike nodded slowly, while Dawn tried to look uninterested. Theoretically Aurora would have no idea what they were talking about and would care less.

Ethan didn't have to pretend not to pay attention; he had been pacing the room while Spike and Lilah talked, measuring it out with his gaze and smelling it in a creepy sort of way.

"There's power in this room, Ms. Morgan. Make no mistake about that." Ethan closed his eyes and concentrated. Dawn could see his eyeballs flickering under his closed eyelids. Which, ew.

Ethan's eyes snapped open. "A portal opened here."

"'Course there's dimensional magic here," Spike said. "What, you think Team Angel is hiding behind the woefully inadequate furniture in this place?"

Lilah frowned. "A possibility we have considered. But what does that have to do with our Key?"

"Willow," Dawn murmured low enough so only Spike could hear.

"Right. The Red Queen, being all witchy, must have brought the Key here after the last Slayer passed. And with Angel and pals off to a shiny happy dimension in the sky, maybe it can bring them back."

Lilah shook her head. "We don't know what form it takes, but it could be here? Ethan, detect it." She glared at Ethan, who in turn looked speculatively at Spike and Dawn.

Nobody said anything for way too long. Well, only a couple of seconds, but still. Awkward. Dawn had to break the tension, and playing bimbo was impossible to resist.

"Wait, so you're looking for some magic whatever that could be anything? How do we know it's not nail polish?" She lifted a totally un-Cordy-looking shade off the floor where it had rolled under the front desk.

"Oh, no," Spike intoned, playing along. (She hoped he didn't think this meant she had a plan, because... no.) "What if this interdimensional whatsit was whiskey? Because if it was, my bad." He clanked the empty bottle on the desk.

"I do have an absolutely certain method of identification," Ethan said, brandishing a wicked-looking knife and narrowing his eyes at Dawn. "All it requires is blood."

 

### Part 14

 

"Right, then," Spike said. "The Red Cross gives out cookies, and you expect me to provide my own snack?" He shook off his human face and lisped around his fangs. "Bunch of savages in this town." He'd warrant that Team Evil wasn't getting that pop culture reference, and likely not Dawn either.

Spike reached casually for Dawn and, before she could say anything in protest, sunk his fangs into her neck and drank the littlest bit. Or at least, that was the plan. Took about two seconds for him to realize that he hadn't accounted for how much he'd missed this. Had been since the Bronze that once with his lost Dru, and even then the girl had been cooling. Before that, he couldn't remember. Far too long harnessed by that thrice-damned chip.

Dawn didn't struggle, either. Not as such. A bit of a wriggle and he found himself half-hard again; should have bitten her when they'd been fucking. This was Dawn, though, not some chit to suck down and discard. Probably shouldn't keep on.

It was a mite frightening trying to stop. Not like Slayer blood, no, but sparkling in its own right, like champagne, hitting the back of his throat and tasting better than anything had a right to taste.

Would have been a lot more erotic without the audience, though. Lilah appeared to be liking it and pretending she didn't, and wasn't that interesting? Could keep her distracted from his real intentions, maybe. Meantime Ethan looked at him like he was some kind of zoo animal, grooming or mating or whatnot, but caged all the same. Spike met Ethan's gaze straight-on and saw something there, some kinship of caged beasts.

Not an animal, though. Spike could and did stop when he put his mind to it, withdrawing his fangs reluctantly. Licking Dawn's wound with gusto before dropping her into a boneless heap, Spike thought Ethan understood. Now would he act on that unspoken understanding?

Ethan turned his attention from Dawn to Spike. "Even if the Key eludes us, with some help from the vampire I can call upon it."

Spike fought to keep a bored and sated look on his face; with the stakes (heh) as they were, he didn't need to ruin it all by betraying his elation.

"And invoking it with blood magic will reveal it?" Lilah asked impatiently.

"Got to be blood, yeah. Lilah, can you see to the chit while we make some magic?" Spike smirked at Lilah, daring her to gainsay him.

"You want me to play nursemaid?" Lilah scoffed. "Let your whore bleed."

Spike put a hard edge in his words. "You people monkeyed with my brain, and you know what that means, Lilah? It means you should be just a little afraid of old Spike."

Lilah smirked. "You don't think we didn't consider the small matter of a failsafe?"

Spike felt all over chilled for a minute; could the bloke put the chip back? Sorcerers made Spike nervous. It was one thing following a magical recipe, but this fellow was quite another.

Still, nothing for it but to bluster through. "Whatever you're capable of, Lilah, it's clear you want my cooperation or you'd have done it by now. So bandage up the girl while we play with fire."

Through clenched teeth, Lilah said, "I'm guessing that's not all you want?"

Spike grinned widely. "Told you, didn't I? Want that jailbird Slayer."

Lilah nodded. "Fine. Help Ethan, and she's yours."

"And patch up this one before she bleeds out," Spike said, nodding at Dawn. "She's a decent lay."

***

Dawn swam back to the muddy surface of consciousness and shuddered. Arms were wrapped around her, and they weren't Spike's. Maybe the gym was the new golf course? And lawyers chatted about clients while perched on matching elliptical trainers? Because Lilah was half-draggng, half-carrying Dawn to the bathroom as if she were no heavier than a designer purse.

Dawn's neck was sore, but she really wasn't thinking about that because holy guacamole, this biting thing was hot. No wonder Buffy ended up with that scar she refused to talk about. Yowza. Dawn flushed. Lots of things they'd never talked about, and Tips and Techniques For Sex With The Undead was somewhere near the top of the list. Had Spike liked that as much as she did? Like, beyond the obvious snacky goodness? Or was it just part of some Cunning Plan? Because he was talking some serious smack about her, and that was just Not Cool unless it was a Plan. And why was she thinking in Victorian capitals? Yikes, blood loss.

Lilah leaned her against the sink, and Dawn grasped the cool porcelain gratefully. Mmm, solid. Daubing at the ragged edges of the bite with some of the gauze and peroxide from when Spike had bandaged Dawn's hands, Lilah said, "It's like nothing else, isn't it?"

Hmm? Dawn looked up and saw Lilah intent upon cleaning the wound. "What do you know about vampires?" she asked sullenly, wincing at the sting of peroxide. "Besides interfering with their sex lives?"

Oops. Lilah's eyes narrowed as she looked suspiciously at Dawn. "So none of this is a shock? I'd expect hysterics from a child like you." As if alerted to the possibility of subterfuge at work, she wrapped the bandage hastily, her previous meticulous care gone. The glances towards the lobby said more than words would have.

Dawn decided that shutting her damn mouth was the better part of valor at this point. And she wondered exactly what vampire might have taken a bite out of Lilah and left her alive to tell the tale. (And where he and his gang might be, because duh.) Couldn't hurt to slow Lilah down, at any rate, so she slumped to the bathroom floor. She didn't need to pretend to be lightheaded.

Wrinkling her nose at the pungent smell, Lilah rinsed the peroxide off her hands. "You'll live, at least long enough to keep the vampire cooperative." Taking Dawn's arm, she pulled her to her feet and hurried her back to the lobby.

The air was thick with scented smoke, making Dawn sneeze. Lilah seemed unaffected, which was totally proof that she was evil or some kind of robot. At least she'd been pretty competent at first aid. Maybe an evil robot?

Ethan was stirring some kind of nasty-smelling stuff in what looked like a laundry tub. Spike paced nearby, licking his wrist where he must have given Ethan blood for the mixture. Dawn wondered if vampire blood was really magic. She had a sneaking suspicion that Ethan would have extracted some Key blood directly from her if Spike hadn't done it with the biting.

Lilah sat down on the round couch-like thing, crossing and uncrossing her legs. Dawn took notes on How To Look Evil And Elegant At The Same Time; might come in handy some day. Evil, elegant, and maybe a tad suspicious? What had Spike and Ethan discussed?

Meanwhile, the magicking. Ethan spread some goo on the lobby floor in four directions and then (yuck) painted some on his forehead, before touching the mixture to his tongue (double yuck!) and breathing forth a cloudy greenish mist. Still with the yuck; Dawn scrambled out of its path. Spike reached out for her, and she snuggled under his arm. Touching good. Touching very good.

As the smoke billowed, it took a more solid form: a shimmering oval hanging in the air in the middle of the lobby. Ethan spoke a few more words in some dusty-Giles-book language and the gateway solidified. Weird. Dawn could see sunlight through the surface, a mirror without glass.

"Ms. Morgan, I've reopened a portal that was here some months ago. It is reasonable to believe that your missing detectives passed through." Ethan smiled grimly.

Dawn couldn't resist pulling away from Spike, stepping forward, and touching the irregular edge of the portal. It felt a bit like Jello, if Jello could hang in mid-air. Ew.

Ethan smirked, peering at Dawn with newly-gained enlightenment in his eyes. "A little witch, even without a pointy black hat and green skin, are we?"

 

 

### Part 15

 

Dawn held her breath and counted to ten. One: Ethan obviously recognized her as Buffy's sister. Dawn held that thought, with its pain and loss, for a few heartbeats. Six: he knew enough about magic to realize that this memory had just appeared after he'd tasted a potion containing her blood (ew). Ten: for some reason, he wasn't telling Lilah that something was rotten in Denmark. LA. Wherever.

Dawn switched on her poker face (and she'd learned from the best, even if he thought kittens were currency). Maybe working for Lilah wasn't as fun as it seemed; Ethan didn't have any reason to be helping her and Spike, but for some reason he was. She followed Ethan's gaze to where it connected with Spike's. Spike was calm but wary, like he was holding Ethan at arm's length with his eyes. Dawn shivered and looked anywhere else.

The sun-splashed meadow had shifted while she wasn't paying attention. The portal's surface rippled grey and marbled, more like a damaged mirror than the gateway of before. Dawn wished she could go lie in the sun of that other world. Maybe over there she wouldn't be a key turned slayer's sister turned anonymous girl. But it still might be daylight beyond that mirror, and of course Spike couldn't walk through the light with her, and she wasn't going without him. Even if he did scare her just a little.

Lilah narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "And now that the portal is open, what of my key?"

"Sounds like someone else I know," Spike muttered. He reached for Dawn, drawing her back to his side.

"It's likely the magic is tied to the portal," Ethan explained. "If we pass through, we may lose it forever. We must wait for--"

The portal bulged, and Ethan broke off speaking to observe it carefully. It had turned opaque and sounded like a TV on an empty input. Surface shattering like water, it didn't open so much as disgorge a crumpled form onto the floor. Then the portal dissipated, leaving only the smell of ozone, like the air after a summer storm.

"Don't much like the look of this," Spike growled under his breath, edging between Dawn and everyone else.

Which was sweet and all, but made it way hard for her to see what had come out of the portal. She pressed her cheek against the leather of his duster and looked past his shoulder. Unfurling on the floor was some unfamiliar battle-hardened guy covered in gore, cuts, and all sorts of ick.

"Wesley, my God," Lilah said in horror.

"Lilah?" asked the shattered ruin she'd called Wesley. "What are you -- What are Wolfram and Hart doing here? This is still his hotel."

This couldn't be the same Wesley. Dawn tried to see the stuffy Watcher who'd replaced Giles. This guy might be British, but he looked like, well, life had happened. But maybe. She tried to picture him in a suit. Kinda hard, what with the blood.

"Shouldn't we call 911?" Dawn asked. She ducked out from under Spike's arm and reached for the desk phone, but there was no dial tone. "Anyone have a cell phone?"

"So where is he, Wes?" Lilah said, ignoring Dawn. "Where's Angel?"

Dawn knew before he could answer. She knew that bone-deep loss that flashed across Wesley's face. She wondered what Wesley was doing dimension-hopping with Angel, but that pain was all too familiar. She hurried back to bury her face in Spike's shoulder.

"He is beyond your reach," Wesley managed. It looked like it hurt for him to take a deep breath.

"Somebody doesn't patch this bloke up, you're not getting anything more out of him." Spike glared at Lilah. "You may not want to involve the law, but you can't just let him bleed out."

"I told you, I'm no nursemaid," she said with a strange catch in her voice before looking at Dawn as if remembering that she was there. "Well, go on, then. You heard what your vampire said."

Dawn scurried to the bathroom and grabbed the gauze and peroxide. She started back before deciding that Wesley probably needed to be cleaned up first, so she pocketed the stuff in her hands and grabbed a few towels, wetting them in the sink.

When she got back to the lobby, Dawn was weirded out to find Lilah sitting on the floor cradling Wesley's upper body in her lap. He was bleeding on her name-brand suit and twitching in a disturbing way, and she didn't seem to mind.

Spike was pacing by the front door, like he didn't want any part of this. Dawn didn't blame him. And while Lilah was sorta comforting Wesley, Ethan was rummaging through a battered satchel. Poor guy wasn't even dead, and Team Evil was already looting. Not cool.

"If you would, please enlighten us about this book," Ethan said, holding up what looked like a serious antique. The front cover hung from the binding, and Dawn saw what looked like an old-timey picture of a deer.

Wesley propped himself up on his elbows and then fell back onto Lilah's lap, coughing. Ethan shrugged and, with a quick glance at Lilah, kept reading.

"Let's at least get the blood off him before you start the interrogation," Dawn said, bringing the first-aid items over. She knelt down next to Lilah, wiping blood and grime -- and was that ooze? -- off Wesley's face. She recognized him now, as he breathed in shallow gasps. She wished they hadn't met again under these circumstances. Not like he knew who she was, of course.

The gasps had to be all Wesley. Surely Lilah wasn't emotionally involved. Weird, though; her eyes were suspiciously bright. But she didn't ask any more impossible questions, just held him like she cared. Why, Dawn didn't want to ask.

And in a few minutes, Wesley was beyond answering. Dawn pulled away, feeling a little queasy. And plus, it was almost like she was intruding. Lilah sat on the lobby floor, Wesley's body sprawling across her as if to form an incongruous Pieta.

It didn't stop Lilah from making a quick phone call, all clipped vowels and orders. She snapped her phone closed and nodded to Spike. "We had a deal. You did your part; it might not be Angel, but that Hart book will do. The slayer is yours."

"Seven am at the Stockton women's lockup," Spike agreed. "I'll have to wear sunscreen." He moved closer and reached for Dawn's hand.

She couldn't believe it, and leaned forward to disagree in a low-voiced whisper. "We can't just leave him here with them. They could, you know, do something awful with the body." And she didn't want to think about that. After the horrible maybe-zombie stuff with her mom, how could he not care?

Spike pulled away from her, his eyes hard. He spoke loud enough for all to hear. "You want to take him along? Don't think you'd much care for what I'd do with him, love."

"Best leave before the vampire changes his mind, girl," Ethan said, looking up from his perusal of the book and staring a hole in Spike.

A frisson of tension hung in the air between them, and Dawn wondered what they talked about when they were alone. Like Spike would tell her, and thinking that just pissed her off.

"No," Dawn said, louder than she really needed to. "You know what? Do it. I'm sure he'd rather feed Spike than become a double-double-toil-and-trouble ingredient."

"Wesley is -- was -- a Watcher. He's not ending up vamp food," said Lilah from the floor, where she still cradled Wesley in her arms. She looked directly at Dawn, but Dawn got the creepy feeling Lilah wasn't seeing her. "Get out. Now. Or I'll make sure that slayer bitch stays right where she is."

Before Dawn could say more, Spike wrapped an arm around her and half-carried her out the door.

***

Spike shifted uncomfortably in the back seat of the DeSoto. He didn't sit back here as a rule, and so all the leg-room was taken up by empties. More space for Dawn to curl up on the seat and cry, though, and cling to Spike in a delicious if disconcerting way after she dozed off.

Blokes falling out of portals needed to stop bleeding and dying in his vicinity, Spike decided. Interfered with his concentration, and he needed all his wits about him to protect Dawn. Chit seemed to attract trouble, much like big sis, and... there was no profit to thinking on that, so he stopped right there.

The car sat down the street from the hotel, out of sight from the front door of the Hyperion. Spike snorted; only Angel would set up shop in a building named after a sun god. And there was another direction his thoughts didn't need to go.

Concentrate on the long shadows creeping over the city. Give a light caress to the slip of a girl who'd started with crying and ended in a restless nap. Don't think about those who were gone, and don't catch Dawn's scent and hold it, intoxicating as it might be.

Dark enough now that he didn't have to dash around under the dubious protection of his coat. Not that there had been much dashing; out of the hotel and into the car was enough before Dawn had melted down. Times like these, he remembered she was just a little girl who needed protecting.

She stirred on his lap, looking right up at him. "What time is it?"

"Late enough," Spike replied. "Ready to get moving?"

Dawn wiped her nose on the back of her hand and sniffed. "Would you think I'm a horrible person if I said I'm starving?"

Like a street urchin, she wiped her hand on her shorts. No surprise there; nobody carried pocket squares and hadn't for a long time. And no further down that rabbit hole, because the past led to Angel, who maybe no longer existed, and didn't that just bugger all imagining?

Dawn was looking at him like she was trying to climb inside his head and see where he'd sodded off to. Oh, right. She was hungry and didn't need to see him go all pathetic and brooding.

"'Course not. Girl's got to eat. Strength and all that." Spike could tell that his argument was half-hearted, but he blustered on. "You'll feel better once you've had something to eat."

"What about you?" Dawn looked at him with that heart-melting concern she did so well.

"Never mind me." Spike had been hungry for far longer than this, and with any luck they'd find someplace he could get some pig blood. With the chip gone he could feed as he pleased, and of course he would, but he didn't want to upset Dawn after the day she'd had. Get her some dinner, and then he could nip out for a quick sip.

"Okay, let's go. Someplace loud and with people, okay?"

***

The Sock Hop was a few blocks from Dawn's former workplace, Lollipop, but she said she'd never eaten here before. Probably had better taste when in her right mind, Spike judged. Lollipop had classier decor, even including the nudity.

From where Spike was sitting, what this Sock Hop joint lacked in 1950s authenticity it made up for in sheer excess. Non-functional mini-jukeboxes perched precariously on the booths and life-sized Elvis statues gyrated in every corner. Over the sound system, Jerry Lee Lewis howled about great balls of fire. A mite raucous, but the Bit needed distraction.

Dawn tilted the menu towards him. "Look, it's your car!"

"That it is," he said, admiring the clean lines. "Don't make'm like her anymore."

"Your car is a girl?" Dawn hid a giggle behind the menu.

"Cars and ships are always women," Spike asserted with a grin. "It's tradition."

A pretty girl skated up to their booth and sat down next to Spike. "Hi, my name is Kim and I'll be your server tonight. Can I start you off with milkshakes?"

Dawn prattled on about caramel and hot fudge, and Spike inhaled the hot clean scent of the girl next to him. He could follow her to the kitchen and get her out into the alley with a wink and a smile. But he couldn't very well eat a girl who was meant to bring Dawn a milkshake. Wouldn't be proper.

Both Dawn and the girl were looking at him expectantly, and Spike managed, "Coffee. Black." No liquor license, more's the pity, but that's what his flask was for.

Gone and back in an instant with their drinks, the girl -- Kim -- sat cheekily close again while Dawn perused the menu. After a piece she ordered a bacon cheeseburger and fries, and Spike added an order of onion rings.

The waitress smiled enticingly before sliding stockinged thighs off the vinyl booth and skating away. Spike caught her scent as she headed towards the kitchen.

"Does eating non-blood food help at all?" Dawn wondered aloud, shaking him from his reverie.

"Tastes good," Spike said, stealing her milkshake and drinking out of both straws: caramel and milk, lipgloss and fudge. Cold it was, not hot and warm as her blood had been. He shook his head and pushed the straws aside, gulping directly from the glass.

"Hey!" Dawn said. Despite everything, she giggled. Resilience of youth and all that. And no climbing around inside his head, or she wouldn't be laughing at his dark thoughts. No fluffy tame kitten was he.

"There's that smile," Spike said. "That's my girl."

Within minutes, Spike's onion rings came out of the kitchen, brought by some scrawny teenaged guy. The onion rings were the more appetizing of the two, and Spike was pathetically grateful that the waitress was nowhere in sight.

"I should have asked for my fries as an appetizer," Dawn said with a faux pout.

"Help yourself," Spike said around a mouthful of onion ring.

Dawn wrinkled up her face. "Ew. They're all slimy on the inside."

"That's the best part!" Spike tossed another handful back and washed them down with some improved coffee. Whiskey cut the bitterness just so. Didn't help with the emptiness and the deep thirst, but nothing short of blood would slake that.

"So not even," Dawn said. "Oh, finally!" Her bacon cheddar burger and fries appeared, and she set into them with gusto. "Hey, so Ethan totally recognized me."

"How would he -- ah, right. The blood. Good show." Would have to fix himself up with some blood right soon, Spike thought. Ethan had taken more than Dawn knew.

Dawn spoke around a mouthful of fries. "What I can't figure out is why he didn't tell Lilah."

Spike only smiled at that. Some things his Nibblet didn't need to know.

"What are you not telling me?" Dawn pushed, not satisfied. "You cut a deal with him, didn't you? When we were in the bathroom?"

"That's right. An evil deal," Spike intoned. "Very wicked. Not for little girls' ears."

Dawn stuck out her tongue. "That never works. I'll wear you down, you'll see."

Eating and intermittent chatter brought them to the end of the meal, and finally Dawn pushed her empty plate away with a happy sigh. "I so needed that." She started sliding to the end of the booth.

"Where're you headed without me?" Spike asked, leaning back and raising his eyebrow. "Wouldn't you rather I go along?"

"Bathroom, silly," Dawn said. "Be right back."

***

The 1950s theme continued in the ladies' room. An opulent antechamber boasted a couch and a pair of chairs flanking a low table with period-appropriate replica magazines. All the stuff you'd expect in a bathroom was beyond an open archway, and Dawn headed that way.

After using the crazy facilities (personally, she thought vintage plumbing was taking things a step too far), Dawn washed her hands and dried them on coarse paper toweling. Apparently they weren't willing to go totally old-school and hire an attendant with real towels.

She peeled off the gauze and touched the sore spot in wonder, looking at the bite mark in the mirror. She wondered what Spike thought now that he'd tasted her blood. He'd had plenty of opportunity all afternoon in the car but hadn't tried to polish off the rest of the delicious Dawny treat. Which was good. Definitely of the good.

Bending over the sink, Dawn splashed water on her face and neck and then reached for more paper towels. She blotted herself dry and practiced smiling bravely into the mirror.

Then strong arms grasped her from behind as fangs sank into her neck.

 

 

### Part 16

 

Dawn gasped at the pain of the bite, tears coming to her eyes. She struggled, trying to pull away. Of course the vampire didn't show up in the mirror, but she could see the arms that were pinning her own arms in place.

No black duster in sight (and she hated herself for suspecting that for even a second), but she could see floating sleeves of gauze and long nails painted red. And when she struggled, a familiar-looking pair of black platforms came into view.

"Sofia," Dawn gasped. "Don't..."

Sofia pulled her fangs from Dawn's neck and whirled Dawn around with dizzying speed. Face distorted with vampiric rage, she lisped around her new teeth. Apparently it took awhile to get used to fangs.

"Try to run away from me, will you? And put Erin in the sun? Vos puta pendeja, for that you die!"

As Sofia ranted, Dawn clasped her hand to her throat. This was no careful bite like Spike's but a ragged tear. Dawn didn't like the way her blood was welling up in a thick layer under her hand. Was making her kinda woozy.

"Pay attention when I talk, maldita puta," Sofia screeched, backhanding Dawn with enough force to throw her over the sink.

The mirror shattered as Dawn hit it, pinpricks adding to the throbbing pain in her neck. The room got all hazy and unreal, shards of mirror grinding into the floor under the heels of her hands as she fell.

Maybe the door was really crashing open. Maybe Spike was coming in, coat sweeping and legs kicking, arms delivering blow after blow onto Sofia's snarling face.

Maybe Dawn was imagining Spike biting into Sofia and drinking messily, blood dripping from the wound, as Sofia thrashed about and screamed. The music from the restaurant was piped in here, and it was pretty loud. Nobody would come running.

Everything went grey and fuzzy for a minute. When Dawn blinked back into consciousness, nothing remained of Sofia but a fine coating of dust all over the bathroom, gritty and acrid like volcanic ash.

And Spike looked wild. Vamp-faced, fangs bared, blood on lips and teeth and chin, he looked like a nightmare from outside reality, an ancient god of some horrible blood cult, a ravening beast.

He approached the corner where she lay, reaching out one incongruously smooth hand. "You alright, love?" he asked, his voice distorted by the fangs. He crouched beside her, searching her face in concern.

She mustered up the energy to lean up towards him. "Never better," she rasped, before kissing him full on the mouth. She tasted blood on his lips and then slid her tongue between them, teasing his razor-sharp fangs and exploring his mouth.

After a stunned pause, Spike embraced her and then lifted her out of the broken glass. He brushed it off her and carried her to the red leather couch in the waiting area. Setting her down gently, he kicked the coffee table in front of the door, blocking it.

Returning to her side, Spike wore a look of concern on a once-again human face. "Where else are you hurt?"

"Just the bite," Dawn assured him. Spike didn't need to know about how dizzy she felt; it would just worry him. "Hitting the mirror mostly just knocked the wind out of me." She smiled. "I want you."

 

***

 

Nothing like a spot of violence and a vamp-sized draught of blood to set a bloke to rights. By the time the fight was well over, Spike had control of himself, better control than he'd had back at the table. Despite that, desire seized him when Dawn spoke. Couldn't give in, though.

He shook his head, leaning over her. "You're hurt; best get you out of here."

Dawn pulled her hand away from her neck and lifted it to his lips. The blood on her hand was fresh, and he couldn't resist lapping at it. His cock hardened at the taste, all champagne and sunlight. And while he was distracted, his Nibblet unbuttoned her shorts and shimmied out of them, pale thighs flashing in the muted light. Her panties, he realized, were on the floor back at the Hyperion.

"Can you help me with my shirt?" she asked. "Twisting my neck and shoulder hurts."

In awe, Spike carefully lifted her shirt up her body and over outstretched arms. A thin trail of blood trickled from her neck down onto her left breast. Spike lapped at the droplets, catching Dawn's nipple between lips and tongue. He followed the trickle up and pressed his mouth on the broken skin of her throat. He sucked gently, and she writhed in pleasure at the intimacy. The precocious little minx soon was grinding her cunny against his leg, impatient as anything.

"I liked things back at the hotel," Dawn murmured, voice low. "Before all the lawyery magical badness."

Reluctantly, Spike gave the bite one last lick and then let it alone. Wasn't as bad as it looked, and he didn't need to feed anymore after draining that vampire. Dawn's blood just left him eager to taste more of her.

Dawn fumbled with his jeans and managed to get them unbuttoned as he pulled off his shirt. And as he flung his shirt back towards the washroom proper, she reached past the button fly and grasped his straining cock.

"Not so fast, my shameless little hussy," Spike said with a grin. "First, some attention for you."

Pulling away from her and dropping to his knees in front of the couch, Spike ghosted his hands across the unmarred skin of her thighs and towards their whisper-soft apex. His jeans tried to bollix things up by falling most of the way to his knees, but Spike had other concerns at the moment.

"Hey...," Dawn said, her protest quickly trailing off into audible breathing.

Spike dropped his head to her cunt, licking with long slow strokes. She gasped, lifting her knees and spreading them apart, affording him more access. As he probed and soothed, flicked and caressed, Spike was rewarded with the delectable image of Dawn writhing in pleasure. And the taste was another dimension of Dawn, coating his tongue and filling his nostrils with the essence of sex.

Increasing the stimulation in measured response to her reactions, Spike teased her clit lightly between lips and then teeth. She was bucking wildly now, but he kept his hands cupped under her ass cheeks and maintained focus as she squeezed his head with her thighs. A mite helpful, this not needing to breathe. He kept on licking until she collapsed in a limp heap of satisfied girl.

 

***

 

Whoa. Solo sex had nothing on this. And maybe the blood loss was a contributing factor, but damn.

When her synapses stopped firing all crazy this-and-that-a-way, Dawn laced her fingers behind Spike's head and pulled his face up to hers. She tasted herself in his kiss, and wriggled in delight when she realized that he'd used her basking-in-the-afterglow time wisely: his jeans were history.

Didn't take much encouragement on her part to get his penis (gah, she wished she could stop thinking in health class terms; so uncool) where she wanted it. She felt it prodding insistently against her thigh, and tilted her hips to close the short distance. It slid against her slippery thigh. Good call on Spike's part; what with all the licking and the girl-goo, this was going to be totally easy. Because yeah, not like she would tell him, but it had hurt a little back at the hotel. Eh, that was like dress rehearsal or something; this was for real.

Dawn shivered in anticipation, and also the room was kinda chilly without clothes. But mostly anticipation. Yum. Spike thrust and she slid onto him, delighting in their connection. When he was buried in her, she gasped from the full feeling. And then as he pulled out slightly, she felt the flutters of orgasm.

As he rubbed past her clit, Dawn gasped. Spike paused, searching her face, but in a minute he clearly decided that she wasn't in any way hurting or upset. Once assured that she was in bliss, Spike's restraint lessened with each thrust. Fucking: definitely of the good, Dawn decided. She whimpered in pleasure and lifted her hips to meet him, all involuntary.

Vampires, she decided, smelled yummy. Well, maybe just Spike. It wasn't exactly leather (where had his coat gone?) or whiskey or even fried onion, but something more intrinsically him. She ran her fingers through his hair, over solid shoulders, down his chest, and up his arched back as he leaned into her. Touching the solidity of him, knowing that this was real and that nothing could change that, made her feel safe. Her own vampire, supernatural and dangerous and yet utterly devoted to her; what more could a maybe-real girl want?

She caressed his face and whispered, "I love you." Because she so did.

Nobody who wasn't a vampire could have heard her, but he did. He nuzzled her fingers with parted lips and then sucked on them, pausing his thrusting. Putting one hand behind her head, Spike caressed down her body with the other. His fingers lingered on the hollow of her throat, the bone between her breasts, her pebbled nipples, the muscles of her abdomen, and the curve of her ass. Finally he tweaked the nub of her clit, twisting it just so and wrenching an unwitting cry of pleasure from her. Non-stop train to Orgasmville, now departing the station.

And like he'd been waiting for her to catch up, Spike dropped his face to her neck and sucked on the still-bloody bite. It stung more than a little, but she so didn't care. With the chip gone, hurting her wouldn't hurt Spike. Pleasure mixed with pain as he resumed the rhythmic thrusting, sending them simultaneously over the edge.

 

***

 

This Faith Rescue Mission Roadtrip should, in theory, be way more fun than the drive from Sunnydale to LA. Unlike with scary truck driver guy, she actually wanted Spike to molest her.

Spike wasn't cooperating, though. He was fidgety, drumming a hand against the steering wheel, fiddling with the radio. When she slid across the old-fashioned bench seat towards him, he glared at her, all inscrutable and bleak. Like she did something wrong! Please. She listened to him and drank all the orange juice. She let him re-bandage her neck. She was the very model of a reasonable girl. Grr.

Dawn tried to sleep curled up against the door, but it was uncomfy. Bucket seats had apparently been invented for a reason, but Spike must not have gotten the memo before he bought, found, or most likely stole this stupid car.

Too bad if this pissed him off. The only way she was going to get comfortable was to lie with her head in his lap, so she did.

***

Every bump on the road made Spike more aware of Dawn's face just inches from his cock. He didn't want to let her get any more attached to him, but a bloke was only human. Vampire. Whatever.

Dawn stirred, a bundle of warm girl in his lap. "Are you mad at me?"

"How could I be vexed at you, pet?" Spike answered warily.

"It's just... ever since the restaurant, it's like you haven't wanted to talk to me."

Spike sighed. What was the best way to explain this? "You're young yet, and you deserve a chance to grow up proper, without me mucking it up. You need a home and people looking after you and school and all that rot."

"You can look after me," Dawn said emphatically. "I don't want anyone else."

"I'll never leave you, sweet," Spike promised. "But my life's no life for you. Don't want you living in my world, working in joints like the one where I found you."

Dawn frowned. "It was just a dumb job. Not a big deal."

"Well, your job now is to grow up into the fine young woman your sister wanted you to be." Spike wasn't above playing the guilt card, not if it helped his girl.

"I'm grown up, alright," Dawn said slyly.

Spike shook his head. "None of your tricks, now. My mind's not changing."

With one move of her hips, Dawn proved him wrong. Girl-astride wasn't a great position for driving down the 5, even if this stretch before Stockton was mostly deserted in the cold grey light before dawn. Good thing Spike had a century of driving experience.

***

Dawn figured they weren't actually going to have all the sex while driving, but it was amazing how Spike's attention snapped into focus once she straddled him. Note to self: could be useful for future arguments.

But even after she'd made her point and was now sitting at his side (totally over the imaginary dividing line in the middle of the bench seat), Spike was still disagreeing with her "happily ever after" scenario. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel like he was trying to decide what argument to pull out next.

"You shouldn't love someone who wants your blood," he said, with all sorts of conviction.

"But that's not all you want," Dawn said, leaning back against him and resting her bare feet on the dash. "Right? I mean, you like all of me, not just parts." She looked over her shoulder and winked.

Spike raked her with a lewd once-over gaze, before chuckling. "Right you are." Suddenly serious, he continued, "Everything about you, Bit. You're in your own category, smart and kinder than you ought to be. But is this... am I what you want? An undead monster?"

Dawn gave him her version of Resolve Face, sitting back up. "Enough people I love have died. I like the fact that you won't."

Spike chuckled. "On account of I already did. And Dawn? I love you too."

Dawn snuggled under his arm and Spike squeezed her tightly. Her perceptions narrowed to the rumble of the engine, the roar of the highway, and Spike.

They kissed, and the world fell away.


End file.
